WU QUAN + YAN JUN – Viva la vaches (KwanYin)
This obscure disc was released in 2006: thirty-one minutes of electronic music without too many bells and whistles, generated by Quan and Jun via laptop, sound forks, audio signal generators, iPod, pedals and feedback. The whole remains pretty static, if a little crusty underneath, for the large part of the album, with a few exceptions in both senses: in fact, white noise, humming pulse and distortion often leave room to fairly tranquil soundscapes, usually loop-derived. In general, this is the sort of performance that unfolds visibly, the elements assembled with a clear mental design of how the piece should result to the listener’s ears at the end. Yet there’s a sense of disturbed peace that crawls under the skin, something that doesn’t allow us to completely relax. Danger that never manifests itself, if not through thrumming rhythms and throbbing crunchy matters, stuff that a regular brain can manage no problem. Just wondering if the title is a response to Staalplaat’s “Mort Aux Vaches” series. As a record it’s nice enough, but I’d be lying if I told you that it needs to be played more than once or twice. Hardcore fans of isolationist electronica might like it better.
AKIRA RABELAIS – Spellewauerynsherde (Samadhi Sound)
A tapestry of frail shards. Elliptical voices of ghostly presences are put under a lens that reiterates their silent cry rather than magnifying it; in the darkness of anachronism this swollen river of gliding sadness is barely visible. Old melodies standing inconspicuously behind our ability of comprehension, fragments of ancient knowledge we’ll never be able to share, hard as we try. Possessiveness is left behind; we must learn a new language, which is silence itself, as only the silence solicited by many useless words is the right answer to the sourness of mechanical thought. Akira Rabelais tried to start reasoning about the signals sent by these distant calls and found a new way to show their ancestral beauty; we can only reap the fruits of such a homogeneous effort, just grateful of that handful of vocal embodiments smiling at us from nowhere.
BHOB RAINEY – Two bites of a bitter sweet (Evolving Ear)
Tranquil-yet-dirty, pleasant music by a saxless Bhob Rainey on a nice seven inch featuring one track per side. “A desert of consolation” seems to come out from an old radio in an abandoned attic, synthetic waves generating irregular oscillations amidst unquiet calmness, the whole finally blemished by extraneous noises and repetitive electronic discharges. “The summering unsound” is low-budget electroacoustic material: sounds of a beach and, generally, of water are slightly disturbed by a cyclically creaking “something”, with an unknown crooner appearing like a ghost to introduce a sudden grand finale of jet rumble, bells and sirens. Throughout the piece, a pitch-transposed (and ring-modulated?) voice grumbles and moans. A full-length release of similar stuff by Rainey would be appreciated after this 15-minute appetizer.
BHOB RAINEY / RALF WEHOWSKY – I don’t think I can see you tonight (Sedimental)
When two open-eared, inquisitive artistic minds decide to do something together, the magic can happen instantly, take several years before manifesting or not happen at all. It looks like “I don’t think I can see you tonight” belongs to the second category, as Rainey and Wehowsky started this collaboration in 2001 and kept working on it in various phases, nicely described in the liner notes. The record is divided into three tracks, which demonstrate how different times and places can be juxtaposed to extract the finest juices from their elemental significance. “Awaken elsewhere, unforseen” is a highly charged exploration of the sonic synapses of an electroacoustic organism, a mixture of recognizable sources and wasteland abstruseness that leaves no chance for us to memorize even half a minute of its content. The title track moves from irregular drones, pseudo electronic/noise ambiences and subterranean bubbling to splendid location recordings of ice-skating children and passing planes, the whole underlined by truly fabulous glissando waves and peculiarly morphing resonances that create a breathtaking sense of standstill, broken by sudden increases in the level of the rough materials that often interrupt the hypnotizing flux of events. But it’s a mildly threatening suspicion that lingers on, constituting both the aesthetic nucleus of the piece and the most engrossing factor of the whole album. “Re: Hi!” crackles the already weak bones of sonic common sense, alternating bionic memorabilia and disfunctional broadcasts from alternative channels in which the palimpsest is determined by how many people’s heads explode during the vision. The final “vocal” chant amidst synthetic oscillations and brittle disturbances is alone worth the price of the release; it could be a questionable way to attract new fans, but sure enough it is one of the most lively examples of long-distance acousmatic composition that I stumbled upon recently – just plain great. Outstanding stuff, and I had no doubt about it.
RAIONBASHI – Chloral works I & II (Entr’acte)
Now, this is quite unique: a single-sided 45 rpm vinyl where Doreen and Daniel Kutzke-Löwenbrück recorded two bizarre present-day yodels – well, the beginning is indeed a yodel, but it’s just an excuse to ignite a stretched vocal fire in which Doreen is elongated and superimposed to herself while “electroacoustic bodily functions” (mostly from the stomach, I’d say) act as a contrasting element to the beautifully looped yodels, which are absolutely not reminiscent of Austrian mountain villages, instead reminding me of contemporary computer minimalism – once again, Chinese composer Dajuin Yao comes to mind – and, in the second movement, of war sirens howling in desperation. The record comes sealed in a custom-made hand printed moisture barrier bag, making it also a nice collector’s item (although you’re forced to cut the bag to take out the goods…)
ROLAND RAMANAN – Caesura (Emanem)
Although signed by Ramanan, this record is a balanced mixture of fine musicianships by four great artists; Marcio Mattos, Simon H.Fell and Mark Sanders help the “leader” in further developing the sonic journey initiated with his first album “Shaken”; this masterful trumpet player, also doubling on wooden flutes, declares on the liner notes that this time he felt “more confident”, therefore being conscious that “the music is better”. Comparisons aside, “Caesura” is indeed an extremely mature statement; some of the material is composed while the large part of it is improvised, freely or upon pre-determined instructions. Every movement sounds perfectly accomplished, with Ramanan playing with intelligence and huge soul, Sanders being his usual wonderful self – namely one of the most sensible percussionists that I’ve ever heard – and the fantastic pairing of Mattos’ cello and Fell’s double bass representing a concentrated affirmation of technical ability and spontaneous combustion, well evident in their engrossing duo on “Post part”. One of those recordings which give back some hope for the future of contemporary music.
HAL RAMMEL – Like water tightly wound (Crouton)
Whenever reviewers need to get out of the verbal quicksand they’re stuck in while trying to talk about artists they don’t really know, a “John Cage” or “Harry Partch” quote is typically dropped, in the often justified hope that many of their readers will swallow it. This time, though, the comparison could work a little bit, as Hal Rammel has clearly stated that he was influenced by Partch as far as inventing unique instruments out of raw materials is concerned. The Sound Palette used in “Like water tightly wound” is one of a series of variously shaped wooden palettes full of different-sized hacksaws and metal pieces that look gorgeous and sound, well, not exactly the way I expected. This 10-inch contains in fact two improvisations by Rammel, who elicits constantly shifting timbres that indeed may recall water – to be exact, the gurgling water in a conch shell (a sound that, ahem, John Cage used in some of his music) with all the related burps and bubbles, but naturally enhanced by the resonance of the metals, which quite often influenced the acoustic properties of my listening place in such a manner that wooden objects entered a “sympathetic vibration area”. Yet I also figured a strange association of this music with Frank Zappa’s first Synclavier experiments (precisely, “The girl in the magnesium dress” on the “Boulez plays Zappa” album – if you don’t know it, fine with me) especially in the overall harmonic uncertainty, which Rammel seems to look for (in fact, he modifies the Sound Palette as soon as he hears something approaching a more conventional tuning) and that’s instead non-existent in Zappa’s impossible scores, hence the curiosity of this link between the two artists. When all is said and done, and considering that this is a 300-copy limited edition whose vinyl is almost perfect (a rare feature these days), this is a highly recommended release that gave birth to a “full-length desire” in this writer.
RAPOON – From shadows sleep (Essence)
After almost two decades spent collecting every record that I could find by Robin Storey, who – let’s not forget – was also the main creative force behind :zoviet*france:, I had to let go a little bit because I hadn’t fully digested Rapoon’s recent, more rhythmically oriented tendencies and, to be completely honest, I believe that some of those releases weren’t on the same artistic level of his past masterpieces. Now he’s back with a vengeance, and I’m still here to document the action. “From shadows sleep” comes in a fine set, complete with eleven cards of abstract paintings by Storey, each one presumably representing the respective track of the CD. Rapoon has returned to what he’s always been good at, and I mean loops: he’s a master in taking a couple of sound sources – often unrecognizable from the start – and generate states of total trance through sheer repetition, the whole usually bathed in thick reverb and multiple delays which render the mix quite twisted; but it’s that very lo-fi complexion that pushes the music up to the highest spheres. Looming over the listener with an abundance of ghostly textures and liquid figments, these strange waveforms manifest themselves without revealing their true significance, keeping anxiety at bay by preventing us from formulating questions, busy as we are in determining if we’re merely listening to a record or experiencing a mental ordeal. “The fall of Babylon” puts an attack-less bell sample in infinite repeat amidst various kinds of clangours and chilly noises; “The darkness of time” is quite an engrossing trip, disembodied sounds and ectoplasmic moans introducing an eternal reiteration reminiscent of Storey’s best work. “The endless plains” will have you wishing that this dream never stops. An old friend is here again, and I’m happy to report that he’s still capable of leading me through those paths I used to follow him along all those years ago. Rapoon is a true original, not a cheap imitation, and “From shadows sleep” fully proves this point.
PAULO RAPOSO / MARC BEHRENS – Further consequences of reinterpretation (Cronica)
Multitudes of totally irrepressible spectral colours, a plot made of acousmatic short stories where narrative oscillates between protruding bushes in a scrub-land and narcotic otitis. Paulo and Marc’s project, as they say, creates “everything from nothing” and so, given the respective high level of skill in sound/space architecture, all I can do is remaining on an abstract level, trying to give you a faint idea of the constantly shifting scenario that this CD guarantees. Transforming vague glimpses into a concrete soundscape is no fluke when you have the tools for the job at disposal: Raposo and Behrens twist limitations, throwing any gesture like a backhand to our membranes, stimulated enough to raise your butt and take a walk around the room to better enjoy the extraordinary frequency game this work turns on. Just when everything seems to realign after a painstakingly complex process, something new comes out of that hidden hole in the corner wall and you just can’t trap it: instead, hear it while it steals your ear space. Post-Scriptum: while I’m listening, a bird outside my window has started chirping repeatedly – the mix of his minimal chant with this wonderful record is heartwarming.
VIC RAWLINGS & MIKE BULLOCK – Fall of song (Chloe)
Using cello and contrabass, whose natural sounds get literally raped by open-circuit electronics and tone generators, Rawlings and Bullock concede nothing to conventional “beauty”, yet their sounds are concise and straight to the point during 13 short manifestations where the dynamic contrast is at times extraordinary. Given the scarcity of sources, the whole CD is a smorgasboard of piercing highs, irregular bleeps, layers of crunching distortion and bitter rumbles, sounds that made me think of certain hardcore experimentations of the 70′s, only updated to a more focused approach where the main objective remains a micro-structural analysis rather than a “search for freedom”. It’s all quite interesting and perfectly timed at about 40 minutes.
SCOT RAY – Rumi (Off The Grid)
Guitars are my main tools, therefore I always appreciate records that show love for the instrument and deep-thinking musicians who are not ashamed to lay bare their soul. Scot Ray, who is half of the fabulous Gutpuppet duo with harmonicist Bill Barrett, uses dobro, 6 & 12 string dreadnoughts and a 22-string Chaturangui (a guitar with addirional sets of resonating strings in the vein of sitar) to play thirteen heartfelt homages to the words of Sufi poet Jalal Al-Din Rumi, which comprise the track titles. Ray is endowed with a sensible touch that he displays to elicit the most beautiful tones from his acoustic machines. He plays a mean slide, too, and lets every wood particle and all of his strings vibrate with passionate composure, just like never ending calls in a sacred ceremony. His use of harmonics is totally masterful, and he loves mixing them in complex combinations with shifting positions and sparkling counterpoints. Even the improvised parts sound like they’ve been read on a score, such is the perfect mental architecture of this fabulous guitarist. I consider myself lucky to have received this gorgeous album; now I’m waiting for “Guitar Player” to bring the artist to the attention of a wider audience. He fully deserves it.
REALTIME – In the shaman’s pocket (Ayler)
RealTime are Ken Hyder (dungur, percussion, voice), Z’EV (percussion), Andy Knight (trumpet, flute) and Scipio (bass). This 42-minute suite presents all the characteristics of a ritual ever since its first movements, not a surprise considering the kind of projects and personal beliefs these artists are known for. Tribal patterns and slow, incessant thumps and thuds, underlined by Scipio’s quasi-funky bass walks, get highlighted by Hyder’s vocal emissions halfway through chant and uttered invocation. Z’EV contributes with a multi-timbral percussive arsenal, his command of the pulse dictating the changes in the velocity of the piece. Knight plays different things according to the instrument chosen: on flute, he flows into the shamanic essence of the moment, long dissonant whistles addressing the spiritual components in the correct manner, whilst his trumpet’s short blasts and deceptively simple lines can stand the test of our concentration alone, or sinuously surround Hyder’s throat singing while Z’EV and Scipio interact like sonic Siamese twins. When the sounds become more rarefied, we enjoy the value of single instrumental gestures as if the players were offering something, putting it directly in our hands. Whatever they decide to play, the physical response is one of pleasure – uncomfortable pleasure. It moves inside but we can’t quite determine what really happens. The secret of this album lies right there: a cross between the casual discovery of a clandestine ceremony and the sense of being invited to a practice which is guaranteed not to harm, yet remains somehow obscure. The whole is very interesting and definitely bewitching.
C.J. REAVEN BOROSQUE – Machine (Edgetone)
Furiously lo-fi, distorted to a mess, it would be easy dismissing this guitar/effects solo CD by Borosque as an “anyone can do this” release. Yet there’s something attractive in the many loops created by this San Francisco artist that grew better in me while the music went on; the rumble of the bass strings mixed with a tortured sense of “no way out” in a torrid series of infinite-repeat-cries-for-help carry a desperate rage that I could appreciate only after a while. I’d happily listen to hours of these hypnotic segments, cutting out any additional intro, prelude or phrase. When all is said and done, it’s a record worth approaching without prejudices and with your ears well clean.
REBECCA – Two variations (Charhizma)
Rebecca is the duo of clarinetist Kai Fagaschinski and guitarist Michael Renkel. The project’s spirit lies here in the “process” of repeating an improvisation: that means the same piece is replayed -two times in this recording- with different results, even if conceptually similar. Fagaschinski appears to be mainly interested in basic forms of sound emission: first and foremost the simple use of straight air (with only few notes and harmonics played throughout the record’s duration) blown off various parts of the clarinet, with no bravura shortage; the whole technical aspect is applied to “internal perception” rather than regular expression. Renkel plays acoustic guitar and zither with a certain grade of tranquillity, evidencing his love for Feldman more than once and using both fingers and treatments for his intelligent proposals; his sparse comping and single-note phrasing points out suspensions and perfectly placed events, never swivelling around, always sure about the road to take. Kai and Michael are extremely sympathetic to each one’s modus operandi, thereby lifting artistry’s level quite a bit during most of this fascinating record.
PEDRO REBELO / FRANZISKA SCHROEDER / STEVE DAVIS – Faint (Creative Sources)
Right after starting to listen to this music one realizes that its creators’ technical foundations are strong. Two CDs full of inventiveness, twist and turns, romanticism, acousmatic sapience, and much more: the whole gamut of dynamics and an abundance of ideas are explored in “Faint”. The project starts from the meeting of the Laut duo (Rebelo and Schroeder) with Davis at the Sonic Arts Research Centre in Belfast, their instrumentation comprising piano with “instrumental parasites”, saxophone and drums. The trio improvises according to rather amazing processes, their sense of reciprocal listening utterly stunning, every note uniquely meaningful in the overall balance of each piece. Rebelo – an expert in digital media and installations – is above all an excellent pianist, responsive and coldly detached at once, able to generate a free-jazz outburst in a millisecond through dissonant runs and fragmented chords only to furnish us with sparse elegiac passages as in a bucolic promenade a moment later. Schroeder – a welcome revelation on these shores – constitutes a great addition in my book of favourite saxophonists, her attitude basically lyrical, sensitive competence just pouring out from whatever she chooses to release from a couple of soulful yet scientifically-oriented lungs. I’m not surprised to discover that she’s been active on the instrument since the age of nine – the perceived skill is undisputable. Davis avoids both reductionism and magniloquence, playing in an area that allows those figures to blend with electronic and acoustic sources in special fashion, his percussive organicism a major element of the collective feel that exudates just everywhere in the album. The set is a mixed collection, in that it juxtaposes improvised pieces and Rebelo’s nineteen electroacoustic tracks born from treatments of the same materials. The potion is guaranteed to cause instant addiction to the knowledgeable ones, for this is probably the best Creative Sources record of the 2007-08 biennium. High-class stuff all over the place, very highly recommended.
PABLO RECHE – Paredes (The Locus Of)
Like the large part of the 3-inch series of this interesting label, this 15-minute small artifact by Pablo Reche provides instant gratification for ears willing to absorb beautiful frequencies in a static setting. The two tracks of “Paredes” possess a whirring quality that instantly brought a comparison with certain aspects of Eric La Casa’s work with the internal structures of buildings. There’s scarce movement, even less interference; it seems that the only reference point is our perceptive system, which captures a muffled wind of introspection for long moments, getting soothed into an inconsequential numbness that is more than welcome, especially if you had a hard day at the university (just kidding, folks). One can abandon the whole body in this current of dull memories, ceding the rights of being angry at someone in exchange for a delicious hypnotic fixedness that the short duration of the disc interrupts too soon. We know what’s to push on our CD player then.
PABLO RECHE / UBEBOET – Duae (Retinascan)
Pablo Reche is from Argentina, Ubeboet is Spanish. Both work in the field of low-frequency reductionism, “Duae” being their second collaborative release (the first was a short online track on Zeromoon). Let me tell you straight away that this album is one of the best of the genre that I’ve had the pleasure to meet in years. Comprising four tracks, little more than 36 minutes – for me, the perfect length for this kind of music – the record was composed using, for the most part, field recordings that Reche and Miguel Angel Tolosa (Ubeboet’s real name) made in their respective homelands and processed until they became more or less unrecognizable. Thus, don’t expect singing birds or airplanes: what you’ll find instead is a continuous deep harmonic radiation, an ominous hum like the whisper of a city at night as heard from the distance, a silently devastating sense of anguish affecting your calmness during the realization of something bigger than words. Some of the tracks feature a slow pulse camouflaged in subdural loops and wooshes; the second and longest one contains subsonic activities that a seismograph would record as a third-level earthquake, muffled eruptions against the auricular membranes working wonders when listened in the right frame of mind. A distant comparison, in this case, could be made with Daniel Menche and Kiyoshi Mizutani’s “Garden”, a one-in-a-million masterpiece that I won’t stop to suggest to anybody who still has some taste when it comes to (erstwhile) deep listening. In short, don’t let “Duae” fade away unnoticed: it’s a sombre lithany for the soul that needs to be listened in total silence, repeatedly, and then some. Very highly recommended.
RED NEEDLED SEA – Time.Recall.Now (Sqrt)
Panos Alexiades is the composer of this album under the Red Needled Sea moniker. Five tracks in which the predominant colour is the blackest kind of black, and movements are often undetectable: the keyword for most of this stuff is “pulse”. Music that needs large spaces to diffuse, to self-depict its whole body muscled by truly impressive throbbing low frequencies, perfectly delineated and heard even at lower volume. And when that’s not the case, look for your crystals to tremble in fear. Elsewhere, subdued organ clusters remain in place for long mesmerizing moments, something that we’d never like to give up to once we’ve managed to enter their peculiar (non) patterns. We could associate Alexiades’ vision to a premonition, or treating it like a description of human psychology’s decay, an issue whose significance has reached the top among my own interests nowadays. Contact points can be found in the work of Lull, Hafler Trio and Lilith, but Red Needled Sea does have its distinct voice. The only thing that I really hate (and, sincerely, I was about to decide not to review the CD for this) is the grossly out of context melodic design that, in my opinion, ruins the final track “I say goodbye”. If there is some irony there, I’m sorry but I didn’t realize. Still, the rest of the album is so good that it absorbed that almost lethal blow.
JOSE LUIS REDONDO – La reponse est aux pieds (Etude)
Looking for heirs to the throne of kings Frith, Kaiser, Reichel? Among the ones who might want to aspire to this role one day let me introduce you to Mr. Jose Luis Redondo from Barcelona, here at his solo CD debut after “tons of different session recordings with local groups” and live performances. “La reponse est aux pieds” was created with an array of string instruments including dobro, banjo, guitars, piccolo bass. Mostly they’re played with half-extended, half-traditional techniques (sometimes what we know as “extended” has become accepted as normal, see the “pick-behind-the-bridge” approach). Redondo is good at what he does, which mainly deals with exploring acoustic nuances – he employs a nice slide, too – and processing strings quite clearly, by pitch transposing them or altering their timbre with objects, pedals or heaven knows what else. If it’s true that the forerunners of the genre created masterpieces by the dozen already thirty years ago – and following such a historic wealth of great records in 2008 is definitely uneasy – it must be told that this kind of gestural/textural improvisation with an ounce of deformed bluesy attitude can still entertain an audience, or at the very least this old fart of a writer. In any case, I’ll always prefer someone who seems to be able to determine the sweet (and sour) spots in a stringed instrument to button-pushing priests armed with six synthesizers and a sampler going “oooooooohhhhhhhh” (and a couple of rain sticks in the background). At least, this record comprises music that vibrates and pulsates for real; that only makes it worthy of an attentive try.
RICK REED – Hidden voices (for Hermann Nitsch) (Trans>parent Radiation)
The last time I listened to a Rick Reed album it was the magnificent “Dark skies at noon” on Elevator Bath. “Hidden voices” confirms those encouraging messages passing this new test with flying colours, a perfectly organized composition where instruments, ideas and aural pictures are deployed with the care that only really gifted artists can apply to their craft. The title comes from an installation in Houston dedicated to Austrian actionist Hermann Nitsch, for which Reed provided the sound sources. The instrumentation comprises a Moog synthesizer, ancient sine wave generators, shortwave and an assortment of hardware (which do not include computers). Starting with slowly modulating, oscillating frequencies the music progressively grows into a mildly dissonant mass of imperturbable electronic mourning, culminating – around minute 23 – in one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful loops that I’ve ever heard, a vocal moan repeating itself over and over that shoots an arrow right in the middle of the stomach in a truly breathtaking section. After that, the piece remains suspended between a complex kind of static minimalism with lot of microscopic occurrences under its thick skin and a silent ritual where everybody seems to be looking at the ground, eyes darkened by the excess of sleepless nights waiting for a revelation that will never come. The end is announced by a sudden discharge waking up from the state of trance that these gorgeous emanations threw us into. I can’t stress enough the importance of composers like Reed, who thrive in semi-obscurity and without the praises given to people worth less than half their value, continuously finding alternative interpretations of the word “emotion”.
MICHAEL RENKEL / LUCA VENITUCCI – Still (L’innomable)
Moving around explicit canons of factual tampering, this duo creates difficult music through guitar, zither and accordion plus various preparations and objects. The prerogative of “Still” is its invalidation of some of modern improvisation’s dogmatism; rather than surprising or deconstructing, Renkel and Venitucci put their interest in those zones of interrupted silences that need to be mended with a few touches of swerving counterbalance among unconventional sources – Luca also plays a flight case, of all things – while creating flurries of activity which can sound pleasing or fastidious, yet always look for the bone of the significance. These spots are often a rejuvenating bath in the cold waters of a soberness that’s surely the best asset of this anti-fashionable recording.
CHRISTIAN RENOU – Gone with the wound (Taalem)
A 3-inch by the man who is also known as Brume, which confirms him as one of the most gifted artists in the territory of active ambient soundscapes. At first, taped voices throw the brain in a state of confusion; gradual crescendos raise the tension up to Cape Canaveral-like levels in an infinite growth towards nowhere. It suddenly cuts to the second movement, built upon a gorgeous long-distance, tremulating, fluorescent drone that’s perceived as a sepia-tinged nostalgic recollection, complete with interferences, bumps and thuds. Magnificent harmonics complement a truly magical atmosphere, ideally burning in effigy the many pretenders in this sonic field. “Gone with the wound” is a fabulous example of how this kind of composition should always be made, one of the best among Taalem’s mini CDs.
CHRISTIAN RENOU / ANEMONE TUBE – Transference (Auf Abwegen)
Christian Renou, better known as Brume, and Stefan Hanser (aka Anemone Tube) are two artists whose name I knew but whose work I was not familiar with. If this 2003 collaborative release means something as a first contact, all that I’d say is “Mea culpa”. In keeping with what Hanser writes on his website, namely “trying to put the listener into a delirious mental state”, the couple has managed to reach their goal with “Transference”, a finely intricate, genuine-sounding collage work of drones, found sounds and underground voices that I’d classify way higher than most of the obscurantist esoteric trash camouflaged by spiritual achievement I’ve been coming across for many years now. Renou and Anemone Tube alternate these exquisite moments of meditative yet unstable, if not painful exploration of the psyche with sudden discharges of distortion and carnages of melted percussive/looping elaborations throughout always intriguing tracks whose psychedelic percentage is quite high. Yet, my favourite moments are when “Transference” spreads like a bad November, calmly mournful as the feeling one experiences when lacking something important in life that, nevertheless, remains undefined; in those circumstances you could not be blamed for thinking of early Zoviet France. Although (very few) commonplaces of the genre are detectable – looks like this is inevitable in the dark ambient sector – this full hour of obscure submission to heaven-knows-what sustained my interest until the end.
JÚLIO RESENDE – Da alma (Clean Feed)
There is some measure of poetry in the music of pianist and composer Resende, in this occasion accompanied by João Custódio on double bass, Alexandra Grimal and Zé Pedro Coelho on tenor sax (in different tracks), João Lobo and João Rijo on drums (idem). “Da Alma” is a humble album that seems to voluntarily shroud thoughts and reflections with a veil of naiveté. Themes and harmonic relations are deployed with respectful delicacy, at times winking at the nostalgic factors (so to speak) that composers like – say – Lyle Mays might have hinted to in their past artistic choices. Elsewhere, like in “Filhos da Revolução, this is meshed with melodic intuitions that travel as fast as kids’ fantasies do when they hear a strange yet attractive lullaby. This mixture of candid simplicity and technical expertise works finely for the large part of the program, giving life to sensations ranging from relaxing to quite touching in short time spans. It’s pretty straightforward sonic painting, nothing that requires a degree in rocket science to be enjoyed; and it’s quite easy to digest, moments of refined intensity testifying about the deceptive trait of ingenuousness that characterizes it. There’s no trace of posing from the musicians; a fresh disposition to the interpretation of the scores, even a few uncertainties in a couple of tortuous sections are also evident. It all makes sense, the whole amounting to nearly one full hour of problem-free listening.
MARKUS REUTER & ROBERT RICH – Eleven questions (Unsung)
About 12/15 years ago, records like this were approached with great interest, which in the subsequent times has gradually but steadily vanished as this is the field that opened the doors to an utterly vacuous kind of “polished dilettantism”. Still, “Eleven questions” is – objectively speaking – a good album, well crafted and refined, based upon simple ideas corroborated by an ingredient that is often missing in these types of release: dissonance. Then again, the principals are certainly not latecomers: Rich’s “Trances” and “Drones” remain milestones, regardless of my current disposition. The tracks comprised by this CD are pretty short, similar to thought-out sketches; Reuter plays touch guitars, acoustic guitar and piano, Rich is featured on sound design, piano, flutes and lap steel. Female voice contributions by SiRenée complete the palette. We can notice several points of comparison in the music: Percy Jones to Tim Story, Suso Saiz to Robert Fripp. The winning card is probably the clearly audible, yet never harsh contrast between the elongated emissions coming from the guitars’ processed sound and the sparse chords that characterize the large part of the pieces. Rich provides various kinds of “presences”, which mostly seem to derive from the treatment of vocal and percussive sources; he also morphs ambiences in interesting ways (“Refuse” is an intriguing example of that method). Elsewhere, evocative environments and shadowy sinuousness are at the basis of atmospheric designs whose soundtrack-like qualities do not exclude moments of depth. There are neither actual highlights, nor negative aspects; what’s really appreciable is the lack of that sense of bogus ritualism and counterfeit sacredness typical of 98% of these outings. I can live with this one no problem instead.
REVERSE MOUTH – A child, a dwarf, a sickness (Phase)
I don’t know who Reverse Mouth is (…are?) and even a rapid Google search didn’t reveal much. But what I heard in the 27+ minutes of this disc is particular and revealing. It’s obviously a homemade program, yet hitchhiking amidst these five tracks leads us to several highly gratifying moments; the spirit I detect is akin to other low-budget (but significant) meditative realities recently described here, Gart & Seekatze being one of them. Funny tricks and hypnotic segments create an intriguing structure of malaise and ear perforation; half-human, half-suffering beast utterances find a niche in a pleasant sense of perturbed indetermination where an imaginative use of instruments, found sounds and effects falsifies our mental tranquillity, throwing us right into the arms of the mopes only to sample a couple of additional combinations of crude nudity and oneiric leprosy. A quagmire of peculiarities, well worth of repeated visits.
REV.99 – Everything changed after 7-11 (Pax Recordings)
Imagine tuning to several different radio stations and trying to steal with your ears from each one of them. You’ll get snatches of music, electronic disturbances, someone speaking, someone else laughing and a few good lines once in a while. Now, try to guess what happens when a crazy bunch of improvisers gets reunited under the law of a deranging sax player named 99 Hooker: they give birth to a mixture of sounds well similar to the above radio stations. If you add versatility, intelligence and – yes – instrumental technique (just listen to some of the music itself, for example the two “Iron engineer” tracks and “Radical Episcopalianism”) you’ll get something similar to this record. No words can describe “7-11″, but presences like Donald Miller, Ernesto Diaz-Infante and many others should tell enough.
ROGER REYNOLDS – All known all white (Pogus)
Three pieces, one from 1978 and two from about ten years before – and the incredible fact is that they sound so fresh and “current”, mixing the best facets of contemporary panoramas. The first track sounds -at times- like some orchestral Zappa (think “Girl in the magnesium dress” and you’ve got an idea, but please note that Reynolds wrote “…the serpent-snapping eye” BEFORE that – nevertheless their resemblance in a couple of instances is incredible). The rest of the material is a little more spacey and sometimes droning, using electronics and cello similar to long strings in addition to classic instruments. Every movement in this electro/acoustic wash is stimulating and coherent with their previous foundations. A great record, perfectly balanced between written scores and “free” eruptions, it’s like a good graphic rendition of most space/time relations.
RF – Views of distant towns (Plop)
Californian Ryan Francesconi is both a musician and a developer of musical software; this work was influenced by a book by Japanese writer Haruki Murakami, “The wind-up bird chronicle”. Japan is also present in RF’s music under the guise of field recordings made by him during a recent tour, sounds that appear and disappear amidst an assortment of acoustic instruments and almost invisible computer treatments characterizing a collection of pretty sad songs in which every event occurs necessarily in the place where one expects it. From melancholic mournings of violins and brass to unobtrusive glitches and pops, passing through gently plucked acoustic guitars and urban noise, Francesconi controls the narrative of his compositions in every single detail, putting lots of dilated spaces in frail structures of quiet, poignant emptiness underlined by processed vocals. It’s a deceptively simple record – neither commercial nor very experimental – but it shows the refined craft of a talented artist.
EDOARDO RICCI / THOLLEM MCDONAS – Sono contento di stare qua (Edgetone)
After the wonderful “Poor stop killing poor”, here we are with a new adventure by the pianist whose fingers defy the rationale of articular physics, this time confronted by an excellent fire-breathing companion. The Italian title means “I’m happy to be here”, and in this instance the “here” is “an old cold stone house in the Tuscan hills outside of Florence”. Ricci is an inventively intelligible alto saxophonist, whose mercurial lines and brisk phrasing pace obey to a logic of industrious chatter that never transcends the limit of annoyance; he seems to be always looking for the core of the matter with each droplet of its energy, while at times sounding like a summer bee hovering around discarded grapes. Mcdonas really needs no additional introduction from me, as I’ve sung his genius without hesitation ever since I met his music for the first time. The couple recorded these four improvisations in about one hour, Thollem using a beat-up piano that was in the house (I suppose he loves the recent Ross Bolleter CD on Emanem, then…) which plonks and sproings with undifferentiated non-harmoniousness every time the pianist digits his heartfelt combinations on it. The sublimation of the two instrumental characters is almost perfect, making for a vivid conversation that often borders on the row, but always with reciprocal patience and an ongoing will to listen carefully to what the other has to say. The circle is closed by the perceptible lonesomeness of the two artists, both captains of a team of one in their respective worlds, yet surely gratified by the chance of an unlikely collaboration, which yields peculiar phenomena and interesting exchanges of entangled information. A nice pair.
RICH IN KNUCKLES – Light in dark corners (Creative Sources)
There were times when you listened to a Creative Sources CD being sure of finding something in the area of broken silences and microsounds. The scope of the label has expanded so much in the late years that now we are even able to enjoy a saxophone quartet whose field of action is as far from onkyo as one can get. Markus Heinze, Christoph Reiserer, Raymond MacDonald and Graeme Wilson played these games “in hot windowless chambers” in Glasgow, letting the flow of their improvisations be influenced by “text, images or ideas” or simply following the instant development of a momentary concept. Not a groundbreaking working method, although functional in this case. The large part of the music is pretty fleshy, dissonant in an elegant way, complicated if not to the extreme. At times, listeners could nearly feel authorized to think “Rova” but we’re not there indeed, even if elements familiar to those monstrous reed architectures are found, scattered around the disc. There’s room both for shrieks and squeals, yet we still find minimal, almost geometric foundations over which soloists fight or walk together hand in hand. What emerges from this album is the absolutely stunning control of overacute harmonics and air-fuelled microscopic nuances by all the participants, who are able to imitate and invent at once, bending the instruments to their will. Forward-looking expressiveness by artists who maintain a high degree of respect for traditional sax playing, executed without an ounce of haughtiness.
HOWARD RILEY – Two is one (Emanem)
“Two is one” sees Riley playing a duo with himself, two overdubbed pianos, a four-handed virtual creature who is able to present your soul with a unique sense of gratitude, all deriving from the mixture of peculiar harmonic relations clashing in myriads of elastic digital games or, alternatively, caressing the ears with random romanticism combined with controlled tension. This artist’s vision is based on a strangely functional chain of instinctive deviations and unexpected returns, his music a constant inpouring of bubbling energy which – just like the water of a mountain creek – breaks on the rocks of dissonance with a distinguishable, familiar noise only to settle in more placid moods every once in a while, confirming a rare transparent substantiality. Not only the ten tracks comprised here are the skeleton of another perfect album, they also demonstrate Howard Riley’s subtle perspicacy in understanding in advance what’s surmountable through sheer heart and what instead should be enjoyed as a phenomenon per se, technical instructions left aside, just being overwhelmed by unexplainable complex beauty.
HOWARD RILEY / JOHN TILBURY / KEITH TIPPETT – Another part of the story (Emanem)
To me, the correct title to this one should be “Another story altogether” (compared to other famous pianists’ records) or maybe “A 66 minute piano lesson”. I was totally sure in advance that this release would have had me salivating, as the three men involved are all among my very favorites. What I didn’t expect indeed is their effort’s general tonality, quite often nearer to more tranquil contemporary classic piano pages – Debussy or Ravel spring to mind – than to the masterful aggressive fingerstretching (enriched with “prepared piano” techniques) which I thought I’d find abundancy of. That’s not to say there’s no speed or intricated polychords: there are plenty, of course – and in every minute of the CD the quality level is consistently on the “excellent” tag. It’s just incredible how three strong personalities like Riley, Tilbury and Tippett just don’t need to over-impose themselves in the music course, preferring instead a fusion of tempers and a precise overlapping of their improvisational schemes. Then again, I had to expect it because we’re talking serious stuff here: “Another part of the story” is a great, unrepeatable present we all have the chance to put our hands – and ears – on. Relax and enjoy those six magic hands.
STEPHANE RIVES – Fibres (Potlatch)
“Fibres” is more about unexpected irregular phenomena than “saxophone improvisation” in a strict sense. Stephane Rives wants his soprano to be considered a modifying machine, an altered extension of his breath waves; that said, we get an impressive array of incredibly “concrete” sonic natures: harmonics never ceasing pushing into the brain, the longest overacute notes you’ll ever hear, saliva-and-tongue generated timbres that are a cross between your kitchen sink and the noise of a couple of factories working together at full steam. It’s pretty difficult material but, surprisingly enough, it also works pretty well with external life (in my case, it’s coupled right now with thunder and rain – and sounds great!). Strange and intelligent.
RLW – The pleasure of burning down churches (Black Rose)
For his new solo outing, Ralf Wehowsky used sounds that he recorded in different eras – the 90s and 2005/2006 – in addition to environmental materials captured in Vietnam, also in the mid-nineties. The album title refers to the enthusiastic descriptions of the damage done during the Vietnam war by an American veteran met on site by Wehowsky, the guy showing the ruins of churches and other buildings, destroyed by the bombs at that time, to everyone available. Apart from this macabre detail we’re in presence of another compelling piece of work by the German composer. Wehowsky is at ease both with the sheer editing of pre-existing sounds and the studio-produced disemboweling of a sonic matter that’s as unwelcoming as a dark alley populated by ectoplasms. The final track “Burning pianos” forces us to an implicit acknowledgement of everything that the alteration of a magnetic tape can yield, all the while piercing our fantasies with uncatchable sequences of distorted images and amorphous frequencies, subterranean drones appearing at the end to complete an impressive soundscape. At various times throughout the record the sources are mixed in a way that morphs the amalgamation of two separate worlds into an immaterial incompleteness, an experience that asks for the brain to fill some of the gaps with our own imagination. That’s not necessarily a good thing in terms of “being prepared to the worst”. The beginning of “Helplessly friendly” welcomes with distant calls from the other side of rational knowledge, but those ethereal shadows are finely contrasted by rustling sounds and a radio conversation (where a participant goes mad badly – listen and freeze) that attribute a concrete temperament to a piece whose background evolves with deformed waves, incoherent undulations and flirtations with derangement (another guest hints at the Pink Panther theme at one point) in an unsettling uprising of anguish and preoccupation. That’s the very best track in a record that confirms RLW as one of the overlooked masters of the game in the contemporary acousmatic field.
RLW – Contours imaginaires (Substantia Innominata)
“Built from a few seconds of piano and vocals. Everything else: imagination”. Thus the composer describes the concept of “Contours imaginaires”, which comes in a 10-inch vinyl and lasts – unfortunately – only 20 minutes in total. RLW leaves no doubt about his intentions ever since the very beginning: the mass of rumbling lows takes instant command amidst hissing turbulences, indiscreet disturbances and inharmonious spectra of non-definition. Every once in a while, one can perceive the presence of the piano in beclouded ectoplasmic chords that get instantly fragmented, chewed up and spit by the inventor’s heavy processing. There’s also a methodical usage of reversed sounds, attributing the whole a delirium-like quality that explodes at the end of side one in gurgling incomprehensible utterances. The second half brings on more deformations and slanted perspectives, voices first mangled then seamed in intriguingly disconcerting hallucinations. The obscure background patchwork electronically generated by the composer lets us accept even the most disturbing sections without flinching, confirming Ralf Wehowsky as the gifted manipulator that we always trust blindly, with good reason.
RLW / I.K.K. – Purpur (Sirr)
Neurodegenerative interpretations of a piece by Ralf Wehowsky, based on a Christmas song named “Ihr Kinderlein Kommet” which he recorded in 2001 as sung by his daughter Sonja – five years old at that time – then excruciatingly altered for his own compositional purposes. Some of the basic materials were later sent to Dan Warburton, Andrew Deutsch, Chris Halliwell, Strotter Inst., Stephen Vitiello, Johannes Frisch and Bhob Rainey who all invented completely new works for the occasion – alone or with RLW himself. The potential of these electroacoustic protrusions is immeasurable, but something stands higher than the rest for my own taste: both the principal’s opening track and Warburton’s handpicked segments are ruthless and moving, juxtaposing elements of purity (little Sonja’s breath intakes, to name one) and subhuman feelings; we’re left incapacitated of redrawing the boundaries separating our instinctive attraction to something we don’t know and the invisible guard forcing us outside the chance of fronting a bitter truth. Strotter Inst. manipulates Lenco turntables and RLW sounds to raise a growing sense of mental fuss, like if he wanted to melt us with boiling vinyl. The final collaborative track sees Wehowsky, Frisch and Rainey making acousmatic riptides of uncomfortable, user-unfriendly remarks which elicit welcome ruptures in our flavourless normality.
RLW / TITO – Mahlzeit (Hinterzimmer)
The word “Mahlzeit”, it is explained in the liner notes, is a German greeting at lunch time whose ironical sense comprises translations such as “nothing there” or “on the contrary”. The act of eating, the relative body functions and the noises that we emit while feeding ourselves are an essential building block in this record by Ralf Wehowsky (senior and junior) and Trans Industrial Toy Orchestra, which includes Peter Kastner, Ine Ophof and Jan Van Wissen. But despite the presence of belches, gulps, saliva-drenched sucking and farts in several occasions, this must be critically considered as a serious acousmatic CD. Starting from sources ranging from violin and flute to toys and kitchen tools, we’re besieged by twelve tracks whose content – let’s face it – has really no mercy and no soul. The wheeling and dealing is captured, splendidly recorded and – all the more interestingly – electronically modified and disassembled, showing us the graphic aspect of a concrete sound-derived work of art. The things that are not instantly decipherable – make that “striking for their untruthfulness” – are deformed, elongated, split in a thousand pieces that get paralleled with skewed melodies or just sheer tones, rendered with the utmost coldness by this cooperative juxtaposition of sonic researchers. It almost looks like RLW and TITO wanted us to experience the feel of bodily pain typical of digestive disorders, yet all that remains after a conscientious listen is a corroboration of brilliance: these people know how to toil over sounds, and only by putting the highest attention to what’s heard one can take the shroud off the artistic values contained herein. Intensely mind-altering materials for those who don’t give a damn about polite manners.
RM74 – Exkursion (dOc)
Reto Mäder (RM74) produces music which is among the most undecipherably warped in the current electronic/laptop scene. In “Exkursion” we find a gazillion of distorted crumbles of pre-existing material, deafening feedback and frequencies a go-go and strange interludes with electric guitar; what’s more, Mäder also uses his great sense of irony – not far from Asmus Tietchens’ most scrambled deviations – introducing oblique melodic schemes zig-zagging around like a drunk or dumb sequencing constituting the backbone of a delirium of progressively melting keyboards. The overwhelming mass of dissonant melodies and crunching noise is intelligently splintered into short bursts of bubbling expansions, like clusters of unclassifiable matter dancing under magnifying lenses. Alexei Borisov appears in the nicely absurd “Pocket-life”; the whole is truly a pleasure for the ones who want a little more than consonant crystals of digital hollowness.
RM 74 – Fireproof in 8 parts (Hinterzimmer)
I’ve been following, on and off, the moves of Reto Mäder since his “Mikrosport” CD on Domizil several years ago and find that he’s amidst the few ones trying to cut the crap that prevents the huge mass of “new kids on the block” in the glitch/fizz laptop area from becoming individual-styled composers. Mäder is growing with each outing, also thanks to his increasing use of acoustic instruments and found sounds which give his pieces a home-recording quality that’s often lovely. “Fireproof in 8 parts” consists indeed of 2 discs, the second being a “Part 9″ that contains additional tracks advancing along the same lines traced by the main opus (and which includes a cameo by Ralf Wehowsky – his partner on a recent Crouton release, “Pirouetten” – who lends his own misshapen sources in the very last minutes). Among the other guests are Roger Ziegler, Alexei Borisov, Dave Phillips. The direction of “Fireproof” is the right one: many of these pieces sound “freshly raw” and only a few ingenuities separate this work from the “excellent” tag. For starters, I’d eliminate most of the (often boring) taped-voice segments, or at least reduce them to the very minimum, rather leaving room to the genuine domestic resonance of Mäder’s simple yet effective elucubrations on piano and guitar bathed in uneasy electronics. This mixture of naively regular utensils, cheap musique concrete and computerized deviations is almost perfect despite some repetitions, and I perceive a general air of sincerity that must be appreciated. This is a good starting point to find the courage to jump right into the ship that sails from Average City to New Greatness.
DERI ROBERTS / DAVE STAPLETON – The Conway suite (Red Eye)
Recorded in Cardiff’s Conway church, these six pieces – part composed and the rest improvised – bear a dramatic elegance mixed with a well exercised emotional impact, surely helped by the naturally viscous reverberation of the chosen location. Tonal affirmations tend to prevail in Stapleton’s massive organ modulations, leaving a few doubts and many certainties upon which Roberts can librate his own charming flights. Repetition of ostinato figures create a perfect nest for this endangered species of instrumental prayer, where saxophone gets almost dissolved into faraway glimpses of melody just slightly reminiscent of some of the best pages of ECM’s masterpieces of the 70′s and the 80′s – Terje Rypdal’s “Descendre” and John Surman’s “Such winters of memory” are two of my recallings, but just as a distant reference. A high-class record, worth of regular rechecking.
GARETH ROBERTS QUINTET – The attack of the killer penguins (GR)
A good sip of British jazz is what I need when I want to get some lessons in arrangement and a few moments of inner peace corroborated by fabulous musicianship. The Gareth Roberts Quintet provides this and much more in a stunning debut album whose cover is graced by a greatly funny artwork by Rhys Bevan Jones. Roberts quotes Charles Mingus and Horace Silver as a compositional influence, but his music is skilful and personal: it makes you want to dance but can also bring out memories from childhood. The quintet is formed by Roberts on trombone, Marcin Wright on saxes and clarinet, Paul Jones on piano, Chris O’Connor on bass and Mark O’Connor on drums. These gentlemen play composed meters like a drink of water (check “Dysgu cifri”, that means “Learning to count”, to have an idea), even constructing a whole piece on something like the 17/8 of the title track. Traditional melodies like the initial “Wrth fynd efo Deio i Dywyn” are rearranged in fine manner, themes and solos exposed with witty consciousness and brilliant tone. In that sense, the intertwining phrasing of Roberts and Wright is a thing of beauty; one moment raucous irony prevails, only to be replaced by almost mourning reflections (“A tribute to an axed piano”, “Never ending journey”). The O’Connors are a refined force of nature whose interplay does not dare to caress the obvious, but Jones is maybe the real ace in the hole of the band: his chordal mastery is a malleable glue for Roberts’ harmonies, which try to conjure up ghosts of Dave Brubeck, McCoy Tyner and Burt Bacharach all in the space of a single track (“Going nowhere fast” – incidentally, the superimposition of Roberts’ quasi-ostinato trombone theme on the 5/4 groove of this tune is probably my overall favourite moment of the record) and constitute the effective link to an elegant authenticity shining in a class of its own. When one listens to a new release three times in about ten hours – which I did here – it usually means we’re in presence of something truly special. I can only be thankful that young players like these ones still exist, people capable of writing music that’s at one and the same time respectful of the tradition, accessible and gifted with virtuosity, music that will have you feeling much better after you’ve finished listening to it.
HERB ROBERTSON NY DOWNTOWN ALLSTARS – Elaboration (Clean Feed)
The interchange between obtrusive improvisation and thematic sketching – the latter intensively and autonomously frequented by the single players – is at the basis of this systematic pulverization of the orthodox mechanics of composition for jazz quintet. The music played by Herb Robertson’s Allstars, which include Tim Berne (alto sax) Sylvie Courvoisier (piano) Mark Dresser (double bass) and Tom Rainey (drums) besides the leader’s trumpet, does not stay in places for too long; instead, it moves according to narrow geometries in a multiplicity of scattered commotions which seem to be quite disorienting at first, but become the very essence of the piece as time goes by. The overcompressed nervousness of these spinning spirals behaves like if the interplay among the musicians could not find an opening; yet, it is indeed this continuous research around significant purposes that overcomes every difficulty of comprehension, resulting in several dazzling moments of fractured magic in which, after the subdivision of the parts, the recombined elements never look like the previous whole.
HERB ROBERTSON NY DOWNTOWN ALLSTARS – Real aberration (Clean Feed)
Difficult proposition: an all-star group, and a double album. Are we going back to the “Tales From Topographic Oceans” era? Kidding aside, this is a serious endeavour, featuring instrumental talents that on paper it’s natural to define “stellar”. Yet these people walk the walk after having talked the talk (or did they?), which results in a complex construction where jazz and chamber music – not to mention free improvisation – are eviscerated, remodelled and deployed in ways that sound fresh and traditional at once. Soloists get their due prominence in wide open spaces, investigating the feasibilities of unguarded exploitation of timbre, wail and intelligence fusing in well-balanced amalgams. One can relax (sort of) by listening to Sylvie Courvoisier’s romantic quadratures and incidental adjustments, knowing for sure that she won’t abandon her own inner logic. Mark Dresser is the one who pulls the strings – no pun intended – of genial forethoughts transformed into rational-scented odes to freedom, a fabulously, lyrically muscled bass voice. Tim Berne’s sax represents the perfect balance of overwhelming creativity and thoughtful restraint, which is not easy to reach for a man so full of vital energy. As far as Tom Rainey is concerned, suffice to say that his solo spots are my personal favourites of the whole project. What an anti-egotistic, ahead-looking drummer, using skins and cymbals like a master painter. And what a contrapuntal interconnection, the comrades all but seconding the lucid recusant in improbable rhythmic decisions. Herb Robertson – the host comes last – zigzags through diplomatic insertions amidst smudged intellectualism (of the sincere kind) and belligerent democracy. A tone that reveals years and years of experiences while positively maintaining a distaste for the obvious. Preponderantly lucid, this is music that requires a total decentralization of the senses to be fully treasured. But treasure you will – without a doubt.
STEVE RODEN – Oder delias or butterflies (Nonvisualobjects)
Based on a dream described by its originator on the CD cover, the peculiar name of this composition introduces to a sphere where repetitive morsels of gentle loops made with delicate percussion, modified low-budget (?) electronic impressions and a bamboo flute presented to Steve by Bernhard Günter constitute a fascinating case of geometric serendipity. Related to a tranquil fluctuation for the quasi totality of the piece, Roden’s creation transmits comprehensible messages, almost inviting extraneous elements to join and enhance an already well-functioning organism; the substantial pleasure of this experience is limpidly non-turbulent, the music moving through a natural schematic reconfiguration between a castigated minimalism and the breathing cycle of a lethargic animal which no climatic variation or fortuitous event could ever accelerate. Roden confirms himself as one of the most heart-gifted among today’s ear manipulators.
STEVE RODEN & JASON KAHN – Shimmer/Flicker/Waver/Quiver (Korm Plastics)
One always knows what to expect from Roden and Kahn in terms of timbral quality and high standards of sonic exploration. This CD, released in 2004 as the sixth installment of the Brombron series, shows the achievement of a perfect balance between the sublimation of a harmonic content (mostly associated with Kahn’s gentle cymbal rolls, one of his trademark sounds which is a consistent presence here) and a mixture of dirty hiss and electronic frequencies that we would tend to attribute to Roden. But considering this release as a disjointed effort would be silly. What’s immediately discernible is the impregnable organization of every timbral shade, which renders this music akin to a foggy halo of manipulated particles that’s as organically developed as a roughly filtered, complex gaseous matter. These sounds are totally egoless, and that’s what defines them in their most intimate core: as processed and unprocessed sources find their way to our rational perception, they’ve already manifested their soft-spoken conflict with silence in the form of mild pops and clicks that beautifully rub the generally tranquil temperament of the pieces. We can also appreciate a sort of ever-lurking subsonic “heartbeat”, like a biological clock setting the tempo of a mechanism which is as physical as one can envisage, and that in its self-regulated discipline functions as a consolidating, if quite occult, deposit of frequencies that enrich the 45 minutes of our life necessary to concentrate on this excellent disc.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / JORGE VALENTE – Self eater and drinker (Audeo)
I thought about fragments of life, caught glimpses of extra sensorial activities, intercepted dialogues between strange alien creatures…The duo of Ernesto Rodrigues (processed and prepared violin) and Jorge Valente (computer, synth) leaves a lot of space, both literally – by respecting the principle of silence and sound being equally fundamental – and to the imagination, as one is forced to use his own mind to figure out what’s going to happen, right after the very first moments of their interconnection. The alternance between strange waves of hallucinating auras and the spiky hits of the strings mixed with computer-processed electronics is the strongest point of this record: eight movements flowing without any fatigue, showing everybody that no definition is necessary when intelligence is involved.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / JOSE OLIVEIRA – Multiples (Creative Sources)
Hard hitting shorts of trio improvisations played on violin, viola, cello, sax, percussion and acoustic guitar. Don’t expect anything too light here, as Ernesto, Guilherme and Jose attack you with ear-splitting harmonics, diverging high notes going from “ppp” to “fff”, bouncing balls on strings, strident contrapuntal monsters. No sound is treated without the due attention, and everything appears to spring right out of the players’ guts. But mind you, this record is by no means cerebral, though it could be difficult to fathom at a first listen; each of these 28 tracks will reward your concentration and, at the end of the day, you will be happy for having discovered new talented instrumentalists in the “hard hat area” of free music.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / JOSE OLIVEIRA / MARCO FRANCO – 23 exposures (Creative Sources)
An abundant hour of extremely creative timbral explorations, “23 exposures” should ideally be approached after a training of hours upon hours of active listening. The sounds fall here and there like raindrops, mixing and combining themselves according to their inner essence – percussive, breathy, harmonic or squealing; everything is improvised but it seems like the parts were advance-planned, such is the coherence of the overall result. Even if I’m not unfamiliar with this kind of material, I could not compare this music to anything else; I find its fractured existence similar to a process to be necessarily followed from the beginning to the end, like a microscopical observation of a small group of living cells.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / GABRIEL PAIUK / JOSE OLIVEIRA – Ficta (Creative Sources)
Music born from a deafening silence and returning to silence itself; this seems to be the major concept behind this excellent recording. Consisting of six episodes named “Nihil”, this CD is without a doubt on a high level of introspection and a nice challenge for the inquisitive listeners. I have a tendency to play this kind of records during quiet afternoons, which I warmly suggest; I loved following the nuances and the slightly dissonant counterpoints created by these musicians to find shadows or “presences” that one could not detect at a first glance but nonetheless are there, helping to define a certain feeling that leaves you freedom of thought and breathing space. Though it’s not easy inventing something new every time a group of musicians gather, the two Rodrigueses, Paiuk and Oliveira walk their path and observe the surroundings with different perspectives, and always very interesting ones.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / ANTONIO CHAPARREIRO / JOSE OLIVEIRA – Sudden music (Creative Sources)
What would you hear if someone took you in a forest at night and left you there, tied to a tree? From my point of view, I’d be extremely scared at first but then I’d start to listen carefully, trying to discern any subtle whisper and catching sinister creaks and thumps just in time to not be surprised. If I survived the stings of mosquitoes and other insects and managed to control my fear, I’d enjoy silences and energies, the bursts and the little noisy manifestations and maybe I could even sing along with the crickets. This time, Rodrigues, Chaparreiro and Oliveira (violin and viola, electric guitar, percussion and inside piano) gave me exactly this kind of feeling; it was a highly surprising listening and one of the best releases of this Portuguese label until now.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / MANUEL MOTA / JOSE OLIVEIRA – Assemblage (Creative Sources)
Working halfway through the complete void and the small sounds coming out of everyday life, putting their instruments in that area where almost nothing is comparable to anything else, the two Rodrigueses, Mota and Oliveira create music that’s just beautiful in this bare-naked snapshot. The balance between the ingredients is this record’s forte: the musicians seem to foresee any upcoming reciprocal movement, their ears receptive to the slightest vibration of the surrounding air. The percussive sounds coming out of the strings (the quartet plays cello, violins, guitars and piano interiors) together with frail skeletons made of broken silences and fractured lines represent that underground world that listeners should always investigate before abandoning to an easement not always deserved. “Assemblage” is surely one of the best Creative Sources releases and one of the best improvisation records of 2003; I just hope it causes the stir these artists merit.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / MARGARIDA GARCIA – Cesura (Creative Sources)
This music is material, ductile and erudite at the same time; when four instrumental entities make you forget their original voice, fusing together into a single creeping lesson in economy of means, something good has surely occurred. “Cesura” is omnirange, pressurized, apparently of scarce visibility yet often quite knockabout…only to fall into the long arms of silence, again. The musicians maltreat their instrumental extensions, bending them to their needs; the instruments respond accordingly, turning into a mass of fuming ashes from where small firelights and tiny pops crackle incessantly. This is a sort of an auto-orchestration in the middle of a forgotten place where microsurgery and raw splinters of rotten wood weigh just the same – and where rusty is more beautiful than shiny. Another important chapter of Creative Sources’ ever-so-involving history.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / GERHARD UEBELE / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / JOSE OLIVEIRA – Contre-Plongée (Creative Sources)
I’ve always thought that most music including Ernesto and Guilherme Rodrigues – here exchanging sounds with Uebele’s violin and Oliveira’s inner piano and guitar – has a very definite “nocturnal” feel. Crawling and silently morphing into multiform spirits, this is a reproduction of what your mind and body experience during those moments when you revolve around yourself without finding a solution for anything. The vibration of metal and wood according to canons of unexpected aesthetics is lightly touching and concretely nerve-stimulating. The air is carved via those instrumental oddities that one wouldn’t even expect to be used; instead, they reveal all their magic precisely at the due moment. It’s like a rheumatic fever – bones crackling and all the rest – but the very same cause of discomfort rapidly becomes a much desired presence in the room. This quartet manages to reduce everything to a dire need of something, without knowing what that “something” actually is.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / MANUEL MOTA / GABRIEL PAIUK – Dorsal (Creative Sources)
Three honourable representatives of the current free music scene are here subtly linked to a rippling yet unexploded energy that seems to organize the sound movement all by itself, with just a minimum intervention by the artists. “Dorsal” is a pathway walked by three men looking one another with the eyes of staunch friends, persons needing just a nod to immerse themselves in thrilling combinations of vibrant acoustic catharsis, where the resonant slipstream of a silent thought materializes itself in a percussive chord or a fluorescent wood crackle. Beauty is also obtained by abnormal use of less explored parts of the instruments – picking behind the bridge, hitting near the keys; an illusion of structure is always there, as to call the notes to their “regular” task. Luckily for us, those notes have other ideas: their close relationship with silence is cemented in an unbreakable pact.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / MICHAEL THIEKE / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / CARLOS SANTOS – Kreis (Creative Sources)
Someone is trying to enter your room. Only, it is not your room – it’s a nightmare of labyrinths in your conscience. Interrogating the laptop divinities, Carlos Santos only receives an out-of-syntony blanket of spuriousness as a reply: “Mind your own path”. Around this scenario, droplets of unknown fancies crash on the monitor systems of concrete failures, courtesy of Ernesto and Guilherme Rodrigues’ plucky fingers and arco disintegrations: the two are able to reproduce any splinter of daily life, from nuclear tests to your coffee machine’s whistle at 6:30 AM, without even caring if they made the appropriate choice at that very moment – and of course they did. Michael Thieke’s winds from peripheral urban areas are so delightfully glacial, one would appreciate his sound alimenting an experimental tunnel where people are forced to focalize on fading lights until total blindness. Santos is still there, his will undefeated, trying to put some order in the chaos of these strained theories…For me, it’s a marvellous quartet.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / GUILHERME RODRIGUES / OREN MARSHALL / CARLOS SANTOS / JOSE OLIVEIRA – Kinetics (Creative Sources)
The eight segments forming “Kinetics” – an improvised suite for violin, viola, cello, pocket trumpet, tuba, electronics and percussion – mark an important moment in Creative Sources’ history as this is maybe the record in which the connection between the elements is heightened at the very top level. The music reaches several peaks of remorseless coldness, almost intimidating in its unalloyed brightness, but in those repeated machinations the warmth of an evolved acousticity is diffused all around, transforming splinters and chips in a cohesion of intents, a sharp-witted testimony of these musicians’ uncommon capability to perceive a sound before it materializes. And once it comes, there’s no looking around in confusion: every source is put at the service of a concrete, instantaneous development of a relational instability between often unrecognizable instruments. Pinched nerves, electrostatic halos and resonating suggestions constitute the ideal underwood for some peculiar animal that breathes through tubes and valves while sniffing around to locate its prey; plastic balls bouncing on strings generate multiform refractions, frisky snippets of already shattered “chords” that will never exist. Finally, scorching manipulations of feedback remind us not to trust our unplugged desires, mercilessly stinging our membranes. Every idea is strongly affirmed and counts an awful lot, everything makes sense, perfectly logical in the flow of impulsive creation. An unmissable release.
ERNESTO RODRIGUES / TOSHIHIRO KOIKE / GUILHERME RODRIGUES – Sen (Creative Sources)
While Ernesto and Guilherme Rodrigues are featured on their customary instruments (viola, cello and pocket trumpet) Toshihiro Koike – whose playing I meet for the first time – is a trombonist, here strategically placed at the centre of the stereo field in the mix, with father and son sharing the left and right channels. “Sen” is one of those episodes in which the sum of the parts gives exactly what expected; starting from pretty disciplined arco dragging, we walk across a series of sonic circumstances ranging from the über-shrilling to the acceptably dissonant, with the strings working as producers of feeble harmonics, metallic caressing and snapping bounces while Koike alternates various kinds of techniques to produce sounds that are influenced both by the gurgling liquids of the mouth and the belching, droning rumble of air pressure into the instrument’s tubes. These timbral associations are not exactly new in terms of surprising results but give a pretty defined idea about the places the artists decide to stop in, their interest in combinations and parallelisms of harshness and malleability ever informed by their reciprocal listening capabilities. A little colder than other collectives involving the Rodrigueses, these two improvisations must be taken for what they are: experiments without any pretence of philosophical or ideological interpretation, much less aesthetic meaning – even if they do express an aesthetic of sorts.
ROGALAND HOT CLUB – One hour closer to death (Utan Titel)
A CDR contained in a folded piece of paper. The packaging brings back memories from the punk era, risking to be a diminishing factor for what instead is almost one hour of excellent music, recorded direct to minidisc during a concert in Stavanger (Norway) with minimal editing – warts and all, including background hum and disc skipping. Not specified on the “cover”, the sources played by Bjerga, Egeland, Gjerde, Pettersen and Toft sound like a collection of stringed sculptures made with discarded objects and instrumental remnants (yet I believe that guitars and piano are also in there). Rusty borderland echoes and smells of rotten cardboard are in a strict relation with different streams of electronic treatment; dissonant ghosts of already shattered songs dance around with pale extravagance. Reminiscences of indefinite inhumanity are layered with less than Carthusian attention, so that the atmosphere of these tracks ranges from undetailed nonchalance to dangerous wordless rhymes where slow percussive patterns are similar to a frightening primal clockwork.
ROJO – Rojo (Unit)
A quartet formed by poet Bartolome Ferrando’s voice and gesture, Markus Eichenberger (clarinets), Fredi Lüscher (piano) and Alfred Zimmerlin (cello), Rojo is a cross pollination between avant-theatre manifestations and chamber music with a touch of beautiful fertility thanks to a level of improvisational skill impossible for many to achieve. The vocal structure Ferrando suggests is more or less planned; not so much the fabulous instrumental parts, always stimulating and in any case very concise – never a note out of place, never a sound overstaying its welcome. Lüscher’s dexterity on the piano keyboard is really in a class of its own; Eichenberger plays various clarinets with human voice-like control, a result you can get only through a stunning technique. Both are perfectly complemented by the knowledgeable lines and bursts of the always sapient Zimmerlin’s string work. These musicians will surely take many pretenders down a peg.
NEIL B. ROLNICK – Fish love that (Deep Listening)
In the CD booklet Rolnick declares this music “is not jazz nor free improvisation but it’s somewhere in between”. All I have to say is that I feel strong jazz basics in most of these musicians’ playing but the overall sound colour is greatly enhanced by an opening to several genres, which will bring this record appreciations from “traditional” fans but also from lovers of the most adventurous kind of jazz-influenced composers (I’m talking George Cartwright or the neglected but excellent Rich Woodson, just to give an idea). Rolnick’s keyboards and his great use of samples contribute to the definitive result just like his fabulous companions: Todd Reynolds on violin, Andrew Sterman on woodwinds, Ron Horton on trumpet, the absolutely excellent Steve Rust on bass, Dean Sharp on drums. Each one brought his character and his passion, giving life to a concept that’s pretty difficult to understand if you give it just a first try; instead, it will reveal its beauty piece by piece.
ALESSANDRA ROMBOLA’ – Uruena (Sillon)
Five interesting pieces for flute, played by Rombolà with excellent use of extended techniques and masterfully recorded in the church of Uruena by Pierre-Olivier Boulant, with the surrounding distant noises of cars and even motor airplanes accompanying the soloist in an almost ritual atmosphere. The resonant percussive clacking of the keys, the incredible tongue-knotting-air-pumping games that the musician uses to generate sounds that we aren’t accustomed to, an unbelievable ability in evidencing the harmonic content even in a single held tone: those are the best features of this classically trained, Madrid-based flutist, whose evolutions are often enhanced by sudden vocal bursts, like if some sort of little devil tried to get out of the instrument’s holes to break the “sacral” environment in which these highly energetic statements were released. It’s certainly an involving experience, a kind of music whose corporal character almost exceeds the technical details – which themselves are worthy of the maximum attention.
RENT ROMUS’ LORDS OF OUTLAND – Culture of pain (Edgetone)
The Lords of Outland are Rent Romus (alto & C-melody saxes, zitherod, voice), C.J. Reaven Borosque (no input electronics, acoustic and electric guitars), Ray Schaeffer (6-string electric fretless bass) and Philip Everett (drums, percussion, autoharp), in this particular occasion reinforced by Jim Ryan (sax), Darren Johnston (trumpet), Scott Looney (piano) and Damon Smith (double bass). “Culture of pain” is made of a substance so extraneous to every known classification that it often borders on the intimidating, meaning this as a compliment. The Lords are not easily disciplinable people: they play with destructive attitude and serious musicianship, even tackling Albert Ayler (a great rendition of “Universal Indians”) who looms like a ghostly father figure behind the group. Romus’ sax rekindles that flame egregiously, thematic sketches becoming instant excuses for the instruments to coalesce into a gruelling mass of Pollockian sonic painting that plumps on the brain and self-adjusts until your synapses are completely disjointed. What sounds as perfectible is remorselessly liquidated by what Romus calls an “iron fisted mighty hand of destruction and power”, namely a pushy, hook-beaked kind of improvisation which is infected by quick-and-dirty melodicism needing no hype besides its dissonant energy. “You vs You” is a hypnotic dance of treated saxophones in a multicellular structure; “Coagulation not cash” fuses Borosque’s unpredictable string manipulation with clandestine embroideries by Schaeffer and Everett. “NYPDMDADOA” is a riff that could have been stolen from The Muffins’ collection over a battle of Edgar Varese-like drum rolls, while “Xinolith Infinitium” redefines 21st century schizoid music and features fantastic playing by Johnston and Looney, human glue of the finest order in a complex of exploding pustules. This album will make you purr and howl; it’s a right cross flattening that decrepit opponent named “inane jazz”. I’ll shake the hand of those club owners who will have the nerve of booking the Lords of Outland; meanwhile, a copy of this CD will work wonders if you suffer from commercial music depression.
(RENT ROMUS’) THE LORDS OF OUTLAND – You can sleep when you’re dead (Edgetone)
It’s a miserable morning, waiting for the same train on the same platform, the daily parade of absurd faces looking at me – that’s a Discman, not an iPod, you jerk, so what? The convoy arrives, an older-than-usual model, really can’t understand why. After getting on and finding a seat the noise of the wheels on the rails makes the bones rattle. “Damn” I think, “I won’t be able to listen”. Enter Super Hero Rent Romus, armed with all kinds of saxophones (plus voice and accordion), leading a brigade of musicians – CJ Borosque, Ray Scheaffer, Philip Everett – that could cause an enlightened Buddhist to nervously twitch fingers before attacking his moaning fellows à la Mike Tyson vs Larry Holmes, round four (isn’t it peculiar that boxing comparisons appear whenever I listen to this man’s output?). Instantly a series of mayhem-fuelled lessons in contortion take care of the surroundings, at times completely covering the coach’s clatter, often nicely mixing with it. Everything seems to scream and look for that additional dose of distortion, the music repulsive of whatever agreement with harmonic common sense. Borosque’s work on no-input pedals is impressively smoking, rusty royalty hoisted to the heavens of mental obnubilation (anal-retentive Latin-trained writers use this word sometimes). Scheaffer’s 6-string bass affirms a growling entanglement with drummer Everett’s spastic terrorism. At last, an unreal feeling of deranged bliss dominates the whole trip (no pun intended). Carriage rumble and un-cerebral mugs – not to mention the ever-present stink, I wonder what these people fucking eat – are forgotten. The Lords are my saviours.
RENT ROMUS’ JAZZ ON THE LINE QUARTET – Filmtrax – ROBOT (Rats and other Memos) (Edgetone)
The soundtrack to a screenplay by Steven Marshall, this music is executed by a group that was initially formed in 1986 by Rent Romus, at that time attending the University of California in Santa Cruz. After years from the disbandment, the leader (here on alto sax and percussion) called old comrades Scott Looney (keyboards), Ray Schaeffer (6-string electric bass) and Philip Everett (drums, percussion, autoharp and “mallet cat”), with the addition of Andre Custodio on electronics and congas in the first track, to produce a weird infusion of jazz-rock from the 70s and modern-day improvisation, hullabaloo and peal excluded in favour of rather unruffled technical mastery and somewhat stylish solo-ism, which – given the massively anarchic character of more recent projects by the same composer – is actually quite unexpected. The act of listening to this stuff – Alphonso Johnson-like bass lines and démodé keyboard solos integrated in a tissue of quasi-nostalgic colours – comes pretty effortlessly, though, and if these men were really intentioned to renovate that semi-vintage vibe feeling while performing this material, they unquestionably succeeded. Then again, Romus’ pleasingly muscular timbre is a delight to hear, as always. Not a memorable album, but for sure one that keeps good company whenever you decide to spin it.
JON ROSE / VERYAN WESTON – Temperament (Emanem)
May I have your attention, please? This double CD is a MILESTONE of improvisation, a must for any person even slightly interested in new forms of sound expression and freedom of speech, an extraordinary pairing of two most intelligent musicians, exploring new languages through the use of different exoteric tunings, ratios and…temperaments. The juxtaposition between the physical results of those approaches and the creative mind of Rose and Weston brings us to the highest level possible in music today: something nearing total perfection. Using their arsenal of violins and keyboards (including a 16-string-long-neck instrument and something called “Rosenberg Orgonium”, among the many) these geniuses range from just intonation to “Meantone 1/4 comma” with the urgency – but also the grace – of a waterfall breaking up in millions of new colours. You must have a really inquiring ear and a well prepared brain to capture the whole essence of “Temperament”; within this record lie the influence and the inspiration of Nancarrow, Berg, dodecaphonics, minimalism, free jazz, whatever…filtered through the wonderful hands of Jon Rose and Veryan Weston, also two real technical monsters, if you ever found similar ones. Already a follower since a long time ago, now I’m completely drugged on this stuff. To be listened for many, many years to come, this release belongs in my all-time top 20, for sure.
KELLY ROSSUM – Line (612 Sides)
Kelly Rossum is a trumpet player from Minneapolis who owns an enthusiastic, genuine timbre and a fabulous-looking hairdo. He’s accompanied by four excellent comrades: Woody Witt (tenor sax), Chris Thomson (tenor and soprano sax), Chris Bates (bass) and J.T.Bates (drums), a quintet that in “Line” was captured live in a room, warts and all. “This is a jazz record”, we’re warned. And good, healthy jazz is indeed what we get: expositions of themes, solos, attentive interplay and boiling energies. There’s more or less everything needed, with additional doses of finesse (“Seduction”, with a delicate muted trumpet in the protagonist’s role), a collective improvisation dressed like an EAI raga (“Places of the mindful”) and a series based on the six “Line” tracks – one being the full version, the other five sketched interpretations of its quirky, angular theme – acting as a skeleton for the whole album. The good news is that the ensemble looks ready to sustain both the opposite forces at work in the most dissonant networks and to let everything loose during pieces that sound easy-going to the point of appearing almost like a divertissement (“La vita a Roma”). The latter’s title, in conjunction with the note in Italian language dedicated to his friends in this country, makes me guess that – besides being a talented musician – Kelly is too good of a human being. These days, when I go to Rome for work, I feel the urge of running away within fifteen minutes.
ROSTIGER RIESENRAD / AALFANG MIT PFERDEKOPF – Figuren in der nacht, geführt von der leuchtspur der schnecken (Aalfang)
A split CD between two noise-and-music performing entities, this nice work lasts about 80 minutes without showing a moment of tiredness. The five pieces by RR are more concerned with desolation, urban abandon and, generally speaking, atmospheres recalling that kind of darkness made known by certain Swedish projects of the late 80′s – does anyone remember Morthound? That said, the music has a certain distinct trait and a decisive elegance in its structure, separating it from intellectuality and self complacency. AMP’s output is only slightly tangential to the above coordinates, rather moving around various continuums and abstractions that are sapiently reinforced by concrete/found sounds, voices and an almost scary use of electronic sources and distortions. For sure these pieces are nearer to a “Faustian” aesthetic vision than to common acousmatics, nevertheless they sound totally natural and discoursive, putting no restriction to a thorough research.
ROTHKAMM – FB01 (Rothkamm)
Frank Holger Rothkamm is a composer and computer programmer whose work I already had the pleasure of meeting in the past, in excellent collaborations with the likes of Alfred 23 Harth and Elliott Sharp. The FB01 is the very first Yamaha digital synthesizer module, an instrument whose architecture allows the creation – in Frank’s words – of complex sounds with minimal effort. These tracks demonstrate this theory in full, generating an astonishing variety of unusual geometries and movements in the aural space, without a chance for our sense of intuition to predict their direction. We’re taken back to the times where “serious” computer artists tried to open a whole new world of sonic possibilities (which, thanks to people like Rothkamm, are probably still there); it seems like an eternity ago, but I used to dream about extreme advances in the development of human perception, spirals and parabolas of sinewaves fluctuating in my room announcing the end of my listening habits. The obscure realms visited by this gentleman’s music are a vivid recollection of mental galaxies that are no more: the era of the preset has swallowed any spare intelligence in the world of electronica, yet “FB01″ gives hope and – why not? – returns us some of that evolutional feeling.
ROTHKAMM – FB02 – Astronaut of inner space (Flux)
The IFORMM is a “unique electric instrument” whose scale is tuned to 768 frequencies-per-octave (so much for the so-called “genial” Western temperament). Frank Rothkamm could well use it for expanding the harmonic consciousness of the poor ones who consider a Mozart cadenza an exciting sensation. Let’s leave joking aside, though, since this is seriously complex electronic music, whose fascination resides in its significant dissonance vs enjoyability fight. In little more than 33 minutes we’re treated with impressive multicolour shapes that hover around without giving the chance of being analyzed before they change, which happens non-stop. A constantly shifting mosaic of gracious timbral layers that could work wonders for pillheads trying to lose their addiction, “FB02″ puts Rothkamm right there with the Spiegels and the Subotnicks, all the while maintaining a degree of accessibility for whoever wants to change their way of perceiving sound shades, at least for half an hour. On a final consideration, I still have to understand if the five-note sequence of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” casually heard in the title track is a quote or an accident. Frank?
ROTHKAMM – FB03 – E Pluribus Unum (Flux)
Prologue: while reading another review of this work, I had to swallow absurd references to Stockhausen (who nowadays fits anywhere, like Harry Partch and John Cage, when “journalists” don’t have a clue of what they’re talking about) and the “pioneers of musique concrete” (this album was entirely made with a synthesizer, so much for the “concrete”). And while we’re at it, Rothkamm is NOT also known as “Frank Holger”; that’s his NAME (ever heard about Holger Czukay?). I’m used to people spreading the virus of ignorance, but enough is enough.
Ironically, it’s because of characters like Frank Rothkamm that I still have some measure of hope in human intelligence. There’s no comparison between listening to something that smells of “commercial research of the inner self” and instead receiving this man’s promo packets and photos, his mad scientist-like face smiling wryly while one tries to decode the messages contained by his liners and, above all, sonic architectures. Most likely, many of these suggestions aren’t even comprehensible for a superficial analyst, not only because we’re talking about first-class microtonal developments in multiform isolationist sauce, but also because the wonderfully ironic, but damn true theory behind “E Pluribus Unum” (seriously accepted or not, and I mostly agree with it) contains the germs of true evolution, the one whose basis is still to be grasped by men in their infinite illusion of advancing, while instead they’re rolling back to the starting point. OK, I know what you’re asking for. What about the music? Electronic soundscapes à la Rothkamm, placed in that galaxy that is proud not to belong to any circle or school of thought. Abstract but precisely sequenced, collecting remnants of phrases that might appear as thrown out randomly by abstruse ungodly machines and were instead generated through a Yamaha FB01 FM Sound Generator that used to belong – of all people – to Blue Oyster Cult’s Buck Dharma and that Frank won on eBay with a $26 bid. Talk about maximum result with minimum effort.
Epilogue: to wrap it all, let’s just say that exercising the brain every once in a while with this stuff wouldn’t be harmful at all; when the saturation level is on red, you can always go back to your Jam Man and loop some obscure “oooh” and “aaah”, or even decide that a friend of yours doing third-rate dub is the next big thing. Now that’s what I call “burial of truth”.
ROTHKAMM – Just 3 Organs (Flux)
First question: is this an allusion to Steve Reich “Four Organs”? For sure the music is neither minimal, nor very accessible. Alright, a few sequenced arpeggios might recall a peg-legged version of Philip Glass, but what the hey. Let’s put this factor aside. Second question: is three really the perfect number? All the things heard in this CD derive from multiples of 3 and the reason should not be explained (learn to read the liners, at least when Frank Rothkamm is the person who wrote them). Suffice to say that this music took its shape from a peculiar tuning system and even stranger reproduction methods. How does it sound? Oh, god. I thought that by now I had figured out Rothkamm’s artistic mind, just a little bit of course. Instead he slams the doors of comprehension shut right in front of me, and one has to peep through the keyhole to get a grasp of what’s in there. For starters, a Yamaha Electone 205D is the source. The composer bought it in 2002 in Hollywood, thus making possible a reprise of his first contact with the same inspiration in 1979, while he was on a mountain vacation in Switzerland and found an out-of-tune church organ in a small village’s chapel. As an indirect homage to that circumstance, the timbre of this Yamaha is – ahem – cheap. The tuning (“a micro-tonal 33 cents apart” – take this, lovers of well-tempered harpsichords) certifies that the improvisations (are they?) are perceived as a cross of experimental entanglement and hoity-toity unwillingness to let many participants in. Which is, as always, better. The tracks are mostly on the short side, an additional puzzling element. No continuity, no boredom. Enigmatically unpigeonholeable stuff from the man who loves to smirk from postcards, to be pick-pocketed from the purse of ignorant oblivion.
ROTHKAMM – Opus Spongebobicum (Flux)
“40 variations on the secret formula from Spongebob Squarepants, our beloved yellow friend”. Gosh. A “recent cartoon” devotee this writer is not, but looking at a Nickelodeon trademark at the end of the liner notes I deduce that we’re talking about an animation here. Which won’t put in plain words the nature of this music for solo piano, coming from a man whose “repetitive strain injuries” limit the time that he’d like to set aside to enjoy a recently acquired 1968 Wurlitzer. Amongst the many, many things that Frank Rothkamm has done, we are now cognisant of a cycle of studies with Karl Heinz Witte (“a pianist renowned for his rare ability to improvise multi-voiced fugues”) that perhaps represents a key through which the probing ones can move towards this record without remaining all at sea (more or less what ensues with the preponderance of Rothkamm’s outings). Another tentative rationalization, most probably an essential issue underlining this “Opus”, comes from the composer’s designation of “piano music as a form of sitting contemplation”. Still, there’s not too much in this disc that could be used as a soundtrack for staring at the void: the nonstop shift between proto-classical forms and flashes in which the contrapuntal texture seems to break up into sweetly tolerable non-consonance is what, on the contrary, keeps the conscientious listener sleeping with an eye open. Sooner or later, something unforeseen happens even in apparently inoffensive passages. Is Rothkamm implying that he’s the actual sponge? Is this just an absorbing (pun intended) remembrance of the influences of his youth? Should I start watching Nickelodeon to comprehend? The view from this terrace: this gathering is – who dared to doubt? – a one-of-a-kind system for escaping expectations by utilizing refashioned past conceptions converted into a string of unquiet considerations. Very nice-sounding to these ears. Warning: not suitable for post office employees and customs personnel.
FRANK ROTHKAMM – Moers Works (1982-1984) (Monochrome Vision)
There are self-proclaimed “artists” whose music sounds like adolescent bedroom experiments, and there are instead experiments that, born in similar circumstances, already possess the seriousness and the sonic poise of important compositional efforts. Frank Rothkamm’s “Moers Works” belong to the second category, of course; not that I had any doubt, in consideration of Mr. Rothkamm’s illustrious past and his penchant for inventing new instruments and tunings that make the Western systems look ridiculous at best. When Frank was a bright young kid, he assembled a basic setup to record his ideas: turntable, shortwave radio, phaser, equalizer, cassette and reel-to-reel tape recorders. By overdubbing masses of monophonic sounds and getting a pseudo stereophony through tape delay, he generated the twelve tracks that we have the good luck of hearing now (two of them also feature a Korg MS-20 synth). What we receive is an objective vision of hundreds of stacked, layered and fragmented formations that collect residual noise, hiss, malfunctioning and distortion to exploit their inherent force; but that alone wouldn’t be enough, hadn’t been Rothkamm’s vision so clear even at that tender age. As a matter of fact, his timbral insight appears so acute that it just looks like he was already able to penetrate the essence of the elaboration itself, processing and counterprocessing even the tiniest details of an apparently shapeless matter to highlight its most functional characteristics. Therefore, a synthesized sequence, a looped segment of muzak, a shortwave interference and the cheapest musique concrete experiment weight just the same, as they’re all components of a continuous flight of fantasy alimented by the composer’s will to determine a structure behind the “flash idea”, all the while establishing a kind of transcendental organicity which makes this music sound – for lack of a better adjective – natural, driven by a necessity of communication that goes well beyond the pure experiment. And, lo-fi or not, it’s just great to these ears.
FRANK ROTHKAMM – LAX (Flux)
I recently got this piece of news: right after the completion of LAX, the Californian warehouse where Frank Rothkamm kept all his vintage machinery – including the instruments that shape the body of this very disc, comprising custom-programmed Atari and Macintosh computers – was destroyed by fire, except for a Hewlett-Packard sine wave generator that luckily was placed elsewhere (and is also featured here). Instantly, a symbolic “idiocy vs intelligence” alignment came to mind, reason unknown. By taking an advance peep at what Rothkamm writes in the liners, we find ourselves in front of a serious doubt: is he kidding bitterly, or life is indeed just a peculiar connection of stupid jokes that become destructive concepts in the hands of the masses? The only answer I can come up with at the moment is inviting the interested ones to give a(…nother?) read to Elias Canetti’s “Crowds and Power” and think again before declaring themselves happy to be a part of a social congregation whatsoever. One of the composer’s definitions of “LAX” indicates its ten tracks as “scenes that map the gradual collective re-wiring of reality to that of high-parallelism during the 2 years before the year 00 in the megacity of Los Angeles” (where he lives). Admit it: you’ve been among the ones who were terrorized by the Y2K propaganda. Well, this record could help in recollecting those oh-so-scary moments by forcing to ponder on the fact that the worse has yet to come, be it from an earthquake or courtesy of your office colleagues’ serpentine attitude. The complexities arising from Rothkamm’s sonic inventions are typically prosperous in terms of frequency shifts, granular noise and, in this case, concrete sourcing from the media (“Los Angeles OR LA TV” is self-explanatory in that sense). Questions are necessarily more frequent than answers, and it looks like the best way to approximate something vaguely similar to a solution is by trusting malconformations of analog sounds and computerized detritus which Frank somehow manages to render tasty as juicy fruits. The conclusive “Bellsine OR Ascent out of LAX” is comparable to a requiem for the progressive-minded human, as I picture an enormous commonplace-stuffed mouth gulping the remnants of healthy individualism and spitting them all over the place, scattered around parties, groups and collectives which live according to rules that try to rule out those who just want to live.
SEBASTIEN ROUX – Revers Ouest (Room40)
Paris-based Roux, born 1977, is the originator of a radiophonic work meant to describe the city of Nantes through “futuristic” text fragments mixed with processed-to-unrecognizable acoustic sources including moose pipe, cello, drums, field recordings, vocals and prepared piano. The resulting coalescence lies upon this continuous mutation, a constant whirlwind of displacement generated by various kinds of whispering voices (obviously in French), the whole wrapped in a tissue of acousmatic combinations nearing the compositional process to the territories of sound installation. One hears a suggestion for each step taken, like walking in a room full of sensors unlocking different capsules of vocal ooze. Yet it looks like we’ve been here already – not in a negative sense, rather due to a kind of familiarity that these mixtures elicit while we listen. The operations on the timbres are sophisticated enough, but do not emerge as sterile; the nervous apparatus of this music is reactive, consequently influencing our disposition. If we’re physically altered before trying, in all likelihood the immediate response from our own systems will be one of involuntary annoyance. On the other hand, if the mind is clear, we’ll consider this scheme of things in the same way of a beehive, every component adding a little piece of something to an entirety which at the end sounds intricate, at times riveting. Music that doesn’t seem to really open new vistas at a first try, but still offers several observation angles allowing for complex functionalities and relational coherences.
KEITH ROWE – The room (Erstwhile)
Although he once admitted that he “looks at the guitar with absolute terror”, Keith Rowe keeps designing scary patchworks of perplexing divergence, similar to the unbalanced forces that move life at large. Being only his third solitary album after “A dimension of perfectly ordinary reality” (Matchless) and “Harsh” (Grob), “The room” is also the first release in Erstwhile Records’ brand new ErstSolo series. Any recorded evidence of Rowe’s work is of self-explanatory importance, and this CD was all the more anticipated after several stunning episodes on this same label that saw him sharing moments of absolute thoroughness, John Tilbury and Toshimaru Nakamura having been his most sympathetic partners in that sense. “The room” presents a few basic elements whose cyclical recurrence endows the music with several points of orientation amidst an only apparently oppressive climate, principles of interfering concreteness attacking us in moments of rational absence deriving from quasi-motionless backgrounds. These periodic images are depicted through straightforward constituents: an ongoing motorized whirr caressing the strings into disconsolate droning, the appearance of a penetrating high frequency, fragments of music from the “real world” that last a nanosecond, a single bleep that comes out of the mix like a steeple on the horizon. Elsewhere, subtle cross-pollinations of manipulated pickups and crumbling noise shift the attention on the more cynical side of Rowe’s approach, in stark contrast with the mesmerizing cavernous rumbles he often elicits from his machines. The short final movement is characterized by an overwhelming affirmation of shortwaves; in between, sounds of passing vehicles add an unusual colour to Rowe’s precise documentation of his own view on materiality, a concoction whose value is represented by its sheer existence – not more, not less.
KEITH ROWE / TOSHIMARU NAKAMURA – Between (Erstwhile)
Sometimes it takes quite a while, but what is indiscernible at a first try suddenly materializes right in front of you without the need of an explanation, a phenomenon of such intense inwardness that no word is justified to describe it. “Between” – 130 minutes of music on two discs – is one of those records where the sum of the parts (guitar and electronics, no-input mixing board) largely exceeds the expected total. Comprising four studio tracks recorded in Vienna by Christoph Amann – the third invisible member, one would say – and a live improvisation captured in Lausanne by Masaki Atsui, this is one of those most exceptional electroacoustic conversations that very rarely grace our life. Mind you, though – you’ll have to be prepared. Especially on the first disc, the spell-and-rupture contrast on the auricular membranes is particularly effective, silence broken by transfigured pitches and tones which that very silence would like to eventually die within; this circle is made more vicious by the self-governing, slightly hostile interferences applied by the two gentlemen, who fight shrill frequencies with radio waves, white noise and electrostatics – a fertilizing detritus sounding like pulverized computer memory that, somehow organically, alters our equilibrium. Continuums of educated feedback are heard from different angles, leaving ample blanks for the listeners’ imagination to insert their own judgements about the origin of these inscrutable tiny disclosures – judgements that result systematically useless, as Rowe and Nakamura gather additional mysterious imagery by mixing rustling emissions and sympathetic buzzing with low thuds, almost depicting the somnolence and the sporadic awakenings when one’s in front of an out-of-tune TV set at late night. The frequency game is careful; tinnitus and subterranean throb are juxtaposed in impressive fashion. The second CD is opened by eight minutes of harshness where the concocted shades mix the might of an electric wind with razor-like slash-and-rip attacks. “Lausanne” sounds like a studio cut even if it was recorded live, a living body whose heartbeat is progressively replaced by pressurized outbursts of metamorphic periodicities. Salvos of quirky discharges play the role of tranquillity-breaking, hush-marauding entities whose offense is a necessary toll to prosecute this low-key celebration of the unexpected, reaching its apex about 27 minutes into the piece when a deeply emotional low resonance put me right “into the zone” – if only for a minute. Always keep an eye open, though, because the insect-like crawling efficiency of the most acute frequencies is ready to catch us off guard, at least until the final minutes of the track where a hardly maintained calmness is a prologue of sorts to the conclusive “Amann”. This 20-minute inexorable underground rumble stops me in my tracks every time I listen to it; quivering lows diffuse all over the room, transforming it in a container of enigmatic powers that fuse together instead of wrestling each other. Every breath or small gesture must silently carve a microscopic niche in this ominous mantric radiation, whose position at the end of the record is the key to the comprehension of what had us puzzled and perplexed previously. The essence of this music is here, visible at last. It’s an appropriate ending to an album that sets a standard which most artists working in this area will have to seriously consider before putting out something that – when compared with “Between” – could be irrelevant at best.
KEITH ROWE / JOHN TILBURY – Duos for Doris (Erstwhile)
One of the finest demonstrations of what serious musicians can engender after decades of iron-chinned resistance to any kind of trend. A record like this opens a path to the type of enlightenment that few artists achieve in lifelong careers. Talking about Keith Rowe and John Tilbury’s contribution to improvised music is completely useless in this circumstance; rather, my duty is highlighting their almost silent gestural sculpting. Every touch, every hum, every chord developed its complexion from respectfully ruptured silence, three pieces executed with a not-too-understated sense of sorrow. Shadows prevail upon light, two performing partners united in search of the “next” tone and the “next” aural evocation, the depths of sound giving a sense to entire existences spent in the role of inquiring researchers. Even when the music starts shaking the ground and seems to transcend our aural reach – Tilbury treating his keyboard like a giant palette, Rowe depicting “out-of-the-guitar” nuances within the mix – we’re never left without the reassuring presence of an naturally resounding foundation. That’s the very reason for which I remain stuck in there, consciously accepting everything these great players have to offer, personalities resplending in that dark room. But it’s actually our soul that sparkles after being exposed to this wonderful homage to Doris Tilbury, John’s late mother.
JESS ROWLAND – 29.water (Pax Recordings)
As their very originator calls them “stream-of-consciousness” compositions, the focus of Jess Rowland’s piano pieces is evident since the very beginning of the record; an absolutely genuine inner peace is translated into an engaging lonesomeness that never leaves doors open to rambunctious normality, not even in the reworking of a standard, say “As time goes by”. Rowland takes her time between a chord and a flurry of speedy melodic droplets, so that listening to her music equals being surrounded by a series of illustrated observations of a still lingering past. That’s not to say that the nostalgia factor prevails: when her fingers find unorthodox passages to the realms of dissonance, Jess also demonstrates a tougher attitude, comparable to the fractured obliqueness of pianists like Marilyn Crispell yet often dipping in creative ingenuousness.
JESS ROWLAND – The shape of poison (Edgetone)
Thus the press release’s portrayal of Jess Rowland: “Like an electron, she is neither here nor there, and like absolute space, she is neither up nor down. Mostly, she is sideways”. Yet the material contained by this CD, originally designed to accompany choreographies by Manuelito Biag, is somehow associable to formerly met situations (one being Carolyn Carlson’s “Dark” – Joachim Kuhn hitting the keys – although differences abound). The context of solo piano with electroacoustic treatments also includes “cut-up gamelan, crunched-out Casio tones and other uncharted sonic landscapes”. Divided in three movements, the material could be trying and travel far away, but I wouldn’t necessarily use the “pioneering” adjective. In truth, the loops, the cyclical fragments, the electronic warp have been seen before; what’s significant is the juxtaposition of brutality and romanticism that Rowland applies, snatching the music from the hands of expectedness to give birth to congruous artistic impact and, yes, the perfect soundtrack to a hypothetical intuition of new forms of body movement (you might want to try your own tai-chi variations while listening). Virtuosity is out of the question, the girl knowing her chops notwithstanding. This is all about a mental state, a position amidst the unwanted occurrences of everyday life allowing both a little dreaming and the partial abandonment of the usual dull attitude towards them. In that sense, what transpires from this album is enough to declare it successful.
RST – Axes (Last Visible Dog)
I get a growing number of albums by artists and labels that have found their favourite swimming waters in the guitar drone swamp. Let’s face it: only a handful of them are masterpieces, yet there’s a lot of people cramming earth loops, eBows and Echoplexes into a single idea; today, one can almost make a living by pushing a couple of buttons, pinching three strings and releasing twenty CDs per year. Hell, this is better than unloading cabbage and broccoli at 5:00 AM after all. What’s all the more unbelievable is that even living-room stuff can sound nice, but I’m always afraid about the repercussions deriving from the customary excess of imitators in the contest. Andrew Moon, the man behind RST, was originally a drummer in Goblin Mix, but he’s also – and especially – good at getting beautiful purrs from his guitars. After releases on Ecstatic Peace! and Corpus Hermeticum, Moon demonstrates with “Axes” to be the kind of dronescaper that must be carefully judged, a major point in his favour being not overly prolific, a positive sign if your family name is not Baker. In general, his tracks seduce through low-frequency hypnotic charm, mostly evidencing the processing work in a very audible way (the hiss of a flanger remains so fascinating), all of them non-invasive, at times sublime like a poor man’s mantra. Something is perennially moving underneath, letting us savour every concealed message and semblance of “note” in a state of suspended tranquillity, halfway through a linear somnolence and cerebral standby. To be enjoyed quietly and repeatedly.
EDWARD RUCHALSKI – Territorial objects (Afe)
Hailing from Syracuse (New York), Edward Ruchalski is a guitar teacher and composer whose work has already been commissioned by important ensembles such as Bang On A Can All-Stars and whose recorded output has been featured on labels such as Humbug, Pseudoarcana, Foxy Digitalis and Taâlem. His main interests reside in “sound installations, motorized string and percussion instruments and playable percussive sculptures”. Enough for this curious boy to try and deepen his knowledge of the artist, and – truth be told – my expectations were fulfilled. “Territorial objects” incorporates thirteen untitled tracks, mostly pretty short, in which Ruchalski traces moods whose temperamental contents – both concrete and symbolic – are often seriously charged. Helped by Michael Burton and Matt Broad, Ruchalski developed the pieces using cymbals, bells and artillery casings (!), to which the performers added water, field recordings, bells, guitar, toy piano and various samples. In this way, they generated a library of sounds on minidisc, from which they extrapolated the basic materials for the music, also by treating the primary sources with envelope manipulation, filtering and pitch transposition. All of the above should give you at least a faint idea of what this stuff sounds like: a mixture of ritual rhythms comparable to natural phenomena, powerful passages and slowly descending sonic sunsets engaging us in a rapture of sensual abandon, lifting our sense of belonging up to a too-soon-terminated climax, until the next picture appears. Everything assembled with careful consideration, typical of a purpose that doesn’t necessarily appear like a propagation of the composer’s ego. Beautiful and definitely recommended.
EDWARD RUCHALSKI – Dark night (Afe)
Originally released by Foxy Digitalis in 2004, “Dark night” is a masterful example of Edward Ruchalski’s penchant for creating music that can’t be used as background wallpaper despite its pretty static basic complexion. Subdivided into eight parts on six tracks, the composition unfolds through a succession of impressive resonances that, especially in the first two movements, let us think about the work of another artist who utilizes “motorized strings”, Tim Catlin (father of a couple of recent splendid albums – solo and with Jon Mueller – on 23Five and Crouton respectively). Jangling suspensions are enhanced by slow descents and breathtaking glissandos, ululating chimes similar to animal voices evidencing the impossibility of maintaining an orientation point amidst this stunning appearance. After a while, several additional elements begin to enrich the music, with particular mention for a piano that sounds like played in a marsh by the ghost of Erik Satie, the whole surrounded by extraneous presences whose sibilant influence contribute to a fascinating mix of anxiety and awareness. In the seventh part, subtitled “Night pasture”, Rebecca Klossner’s singing bowls are juxtaposed to water sounds, but this is not your typical Zen-ish meditation for post office employees: the piece is indeed beautifully pure, representing a sort of oasis in between landscapes whose inaccessibility is only apparent, provided that one possesses the right means to decode the numerous messages that complex harmonics contain. All in all, a must-have album for connoisseurs of serious droning and lovers of guitars that whirr in sympathetic tunings.
ROSWELL RUDD – Blown bone (Emanem)
Recorded in 1976, “Blown bone” was originally released by Philips Japan in 1979; now Emanem reissues it with the addition of “Long hope”, a beautiful piece from 1967 featuring the leader on piano instead of his main instrument, the trombone. The adjective “stellar” referred to a line up is pretty worn out, but in this case that’s exactly what it is: just the names of Paul Motian, Steve Lacy, Tyrone Washington, Enrico Rava and Sheila Jordan are enough to raise my “70s detector” antenna. Rudd’s imaginative writing leads the musicians through repeated highlights, in which swinging frameworks and lyrical suggestions mesh in no-nonsense scoots through a multitude of genres and influences, one of the very few times in which one can’t go wrong using the term “fusion”. Louisiana Red and Sheila Jordan’s vocals add an unusual touch of “popular” energy, which is not so easy to find on this label’s other releases; Rudd’s sapient melodic sense brings his trombone to the fore in the most intense and enjoyable moments. A pleasing look to the past, “Blown bone” could very well appeal to many different audiences: from Gibbs and Westbrook back to Count Basie and Duke Ellington, passing through Afro-Latin recalls, if you love skilful orchestrations and heartfelt playing this could be a nice gift, a moderator of your “extremist avantgarde” processes camouflaged as a soothing listening experience.
ROSWELL RUDD / MARK DRESSER – Airwalkers (Clean Feed)
This is an album that leaves no space for misconceptions, “the result” (to quote Rudd’s words) “of Dresser’s insatiable appetite to play and, coincidentally, the fueling of my own appetite”. With a duo like this, a falling-off of the quality level is out of question. Through nine (mostly improvised) pieces, Rudd’s trombone and Dresser’s double bass negotiate the readmittance to a world where “melody” still has a meaning; yet, there’s still time to trace many furrows on its face, expressing the necessity of pushing the dialogue through the routes of lively irony, intelligible dissonance and illusory easy listening. The couple plays a few lines and, just like that, sparkles of effervescent humour fill the air. As Dresser says, Rudd destroys the tendency to “saxophonize the trombone” in jazz, performing the task with luscious tones and unconventional phraseologies which are a joy to listen to. The bassist rouses the low-frequency responding systems of our organic being by alternating kinky fingerings and abrupt arcoed scars while keeping a simulacrum of “swing” in sight for the ones who could feel lost in the party. “Airwalkers” is a fine demonstration of technical command enriched by gimlet-eyed musical intelligence. It must be played loud.
LX RUDIS / ANDRE CUSTODIO / ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE – CRR live (Pax Recordings)
This is the recorded evidence of two live performances that were held in June 2002 by the Rudis/Custodio/Diaz-Infante trio, armed with a DJ rig, two copies of the “Crashing the Russian Renaissance” CD, a modular synthesizer, microphone, darbuka, voice and amplified acoustic steel-string guitar played with extended techniques. Let’s leave the aesthetic factor out of the question, because an album won’t ever be able to represent what’s inside this kind of concert (including several minutes where the musicians chatter, probably gesture, or do faces, or…but we can’t hear practically nothing and, truth be told, I’d have cut those sections off the program). When the sound does manifest, it’s exactly what one would expect from these guys: unpredictable discharges, sudden appearances of disco vamps, noise a go-go, mysterious hums, electronic anarchy. Therefore, my advice to better enjoy this release is pretty simple: a Cagean approach. “Shuffle” mode at conservative volume, using this as a chance-based peculiar soundtrack. Even those incomprehensible silent segments will be more effective by being shortened up a bit.
MATHIEU RUHLMANN – Today I found the golden world (Somne)
As its creator explains, this music was composed for an exhibition of handmade books by David Ruhlmann and “uses sound sources and materials similar to the images depicted in the books to put the listener in an intimate relationship with them”. The outcome is finely crafted “introspective ambient music” which indeed becomes much more with the passage of time. What begins as a mental accompaniment through deeply resonant low recurrences, reverberating with mystery and solitude, gradually evolves into more complex audioscapes where found sounds, multi-idiom speech fragments, small percussives and indistinct undercurrents mix with altered states of inner perceptivity, at times reminding of Paul Schütze’s best work. My present-day dwindling attention to this kind of aural art is nevertheless still kept alive thanks above all to well conceived records like this one, a limited edition of only 50 copies of which I urge you to secure at least one for your collection.
MATHIEU RUHLMANN – The earth grows in each of us (Afe)
The main concept behind this album is “the regeneration of life cycle”. This was something that struck Ruhlmann quite heavily, as he recently experienced both the arrival of his first son and the fear of losing his beloved sister, who barely survived a near-death accident. The shorter compositions refer to Mathieu’s year of birth in terms of duration (one, nine, seven and six minutes respectively) while the three-part suite “Holding Light” lasts 30 minutes (in 2006 Ruhlmann was in fact 30) and it’s divided into three-minute aural snapshots. Apart from all these numerological aspects, what struck me is the profoundly evocative aura that the composer was able to generate by using a plethora of regular instruments and more or less inanimate sources to depict states of mind that, in selected moments, had me truly reeling in streams of slow-breathing awareness. There are distinct references in several of the tracks, and “Eschenau, 1976″ is in my opinion a clear homage to William Basinski’s heartrending looping memorials; elsewhere, Eno-tinged recollections gratify our unconscious will of being annihilated by sorrowful stupor. Regardless of these evident influences, the high quality of sound treatment and the level of depth reached by Ruhlmann with several of his intuitions transform many sections of this CD in something analogous to a faded Polaroid, which one would like to definitively throw in the trash bin, but inevitably puts back in that old biscuit tin full of past remembrances.
MATHIEU RUHLMANN + CELER – Mesoscaphe (Spekk)
It takes specialist ears and rare profoundness to produce music, at the border between ambient and electroacoustic, that sounds gifted with sensitiveness, still communicating something vital to a listener whose persistence is by now worn out by the surplus of flatness and routine that has gradually destroyed a grassland chock full of unachieved potentials and self-believing idiots. “Mesoscaphe” was dedicated by its creators to “Ben Franklin”, the first naturally-propelled submarine, invented by Swiss physicist Jacques Piccard to be exclusively carried by the Gulf Stream in a fundamental experimentation that, in 1969, was unfortunately overshadowed by the Apollo 11 mission. To generate the breathtaking moans that, in this very moment, are putting your writer under a spell, Ruhlmann and Celer (Danielle Baquet-Long & Will Long) utilized a mix of field recordings and regular instruments (including piano, theremin, bowed ukelin, violin and kettle) plus tape loops, electronics and contact microphone recordings of the mesoscaphe, today lying at the Maritime Museum in Vancouver. I won’t be tedious in attempting to portray feelings by mere words; suffice to say that the record is splendid, a warm blanket of muffled frequencies and smothered noises that, intriguingly enough, made me envisage silent aircrafts and blurred memories rather than aquatic inscrutability. Among the absolute finest in these artists’ careers to date, this is mandatory listening for late evenings.
OLAF RUPP / TONY BUCK / JOE WILLIAMSON – Weird weapons (Emanem)
Drop yourself in the middle of this acoustic guitar/double bass/percussion trio and prepare to be dynamically assaulted, as the protagonists sound like three kids left alone in a room full of every kind of toy. At times hyperactive, Rupp’s nylon-stringed elucubrations are a well received mixture of disjointed strumming, fine clusters, quivering rasgueados and sparse reflective chords that show the German’s disguised harmonic sapience. Williamson’s tone is made of enormous bass waves, particularly evident during the most dynamically powerful sections; he is maybe the ensemble’s “assertive glue”, leading his colleagues through the meanders of cacophonic jewellery and out of the “noise-at-any-cost” perilous waters. Buck’s percussive arsenal helps him throughout his amusing indiscretions, as metallic shades and reckless tampering in clangorous sceneries are a signature of his overjoyed participation to this collective lingo. Tony compares this music to a “million restless cell” organism on the liner notes and I find his description absolutely fitting.
BRUCE RUSSELL – 21st century field hollers and prison songs (w.m.o/r)
One of the most intriguing methods to create new music is taking old materials and reconfigure them in such an unrecognizable fashion that it becomes “innocent” again. That’s exactly what Bruce Russell did, as he used samples from “Midnight crossroads tape recorder blues”, an album he released on A Bruit Secret with Ralf Wehowsky, who himself appears here in “Wehowsky loop blues” which contains radical alterations of himself improvising on the sitar. Apart from this (and some acetate surface noise in a couple of pieces) all sounds are derived from acoustic guitar and voice, yet what we hear is something crossing the border between cheap cassette experimentation and the illegitimate son of Pierre Schaeffer listening to a mangled version of the spliced-tape fantasies by Frank Zappa circa “We’re only in it for the money”. Most of this stuff is sublimely sincere, a joy for everyone’s hidden desires of dadaist abolition of ordinariness in every aspect of sonic art. Russell forces us to rethink the whole process of studio work, applying coat upon coat of blue collar asymmetry over a series of naive collages that, after such a treatment, become nothing short of remarkable.
JOHN RUSSELL – Analekta (Emanem)
When one thinks about the recognizability of a “style” in improvisational contexts, John Russell’s guitar playing stands up there with Derek Bailey’s. His cutting acoustic shards are immediately identifiable, either in solo performances or in different settings like the ones featured in this disc, which presents three duos – with Garry Todd on tenor sax, Henry Lowther on trumpet and Chefa Alonso on soprano sax and percussion – plus a so called Quaqua (the Latin word for “whithersoever”), namely a one-off larger group of improvisers that the guitarist assembles in special occasions, in this case a nonet recorded at the Freedom Of The City 2006 festival. The guitar/trumpet duo “Blart” finds Russell in spectacular form, as he manages to render appropriate even the most disarticulated fingerings, subjecting them to his unique treatment of glowing harmonics and behind-the-bridge scintillae. In particular, Lowther’s warm tone seems to complement and, at time, exalt a no-nonsense economy of means symbolized by Russell’s choice of rasgueados and plucks, which need no amplification or effects to produce a wealth of perjurious limpidness. Saxophones are also good partners for such atypical methods, and both Todd and Alonso are up to the task. Through his own creative phrasing, the former eases himself during his comrade’s trips through the meanders of sensible dissonance and swipes to the obvious in “The bite”, while in “Chamarileros” the latter incarnates a little bit more that ideal of emancipation from the norm which free music sometimes loses its grip on, becoming somehow standardized. This is ably avoided in a track in which wind and string instrument sound more destructured than ever, both disharmonic in peculiarly enjoyable fashion, yet ending their excursion in better known territories. The Quaqua – “So it goes” – is more theatrical, richer in variations and colours, with vocalists Jean-Michel Van Schouwburg and Nicole Legros in good evidence during a collective performance ranging from the delicately chamberesque to the brutally primitive. Stephan Keune, Philipp Wachsmann, Ashley Wales, Steve Beresford, Ivor Kallin and Javier Carmona are the other participants – besides Russell – in this scattering of curiously different talents.
JOHN RUSSELL / UTE VOLKER / MATHIEU WERCHOWSKI – Three planets (Emanem)
In the liveliest segments of “Three planets” there’s a curiously loose, almost playful atmosphere that’s in direct contrast with the low undertones met somewhere else in the tracks. The whole recording lives off these extremes and that’s a major plus in a CD that parallels the improvising merits of three musicians born one decade apart from each other. John Russell’s at his usual great self, bracketing short spans of movement with slashing plucks and constellations of diagonal arpeggios, inserting harmonics in the potion with the same nonchalance of a cook putting salt in a soup. Ute Völker is a fabulously inventive accordionist, talking loud “organ style” when needed and whispering minimal circles that put you right into her sticky net – and it’s guaranteed you won’t move. Mathieu Werchowski’s violin phrase eviscerations and tightrope-walking, high-pitch ostinatos add a measure of anarchy that’s as welcome as an old friend returning home after a long absence.
JOHN RUSSELL / JEAN DEMEY / JEAN-MICHEL VON SCHOUWBURG – The Mercelis concert (Brussels 2006) (Inaudible)
I received this nicely packaged CD along with a very kind letter – in Italian! – from Belgian vocalist Van Schouwburg, who told me about the “love and patience” that were put into the realization of this artifact, recorded live at the Petit Théâtre Mercelis in Brussels. There’s no doubt that every minute of this record confirms those handwritten thoughts in full. Jean-Michel is an extraordinary performer, his flexibility and powerful agility crossing the borders between the styles of Demetrio Stratos and Phil Minton, with a little bit of muscle in addition. Comrades in this occasion were guitarist John Russell, really needing no introduction (as announcers used to say when calling Mike Tyson’s arrival in the ring) and double bassist Jean Demey who’s featured in two tracks, one of them a beautiful solo demonstrating an immaculate technique and the will to walk roads leading outside the habitual trickery. While Russell is at his usual semi-acoustic best, this time fusing snappy plucks and chordal bangs with an unheard before rock attitude (listen to the end of “Light stagin’”) and long moments of attentive silence (“The Mercelis trio”), Van Schouwburg is the force to be reckoned as a true revelation here, his constant research for new standards of vocal improvisation – which materializes without sounding wacky or excessively ironic, repeated rants and snarls notwithstanding – scuttling the certainties of what a “singer” is supposed to do during an exhibition. The innocent comments that a young kid in the audience externalizes every once in a while appear as a symbol of purity amidst a radically genuine kind of expression, unpedigreed music that can turn our mood for the better in the space of a few minutes.
JOSH RUSSELL – Sink (Quiet Design)
Despite knowing Josh Russell as the boss of the Bremsstrahlung imprint, I must admit a well-rooted ignorance about his recorded output. Shame on this scribbler, as “Sink” slaps this harsh reality in the face of the guilty with 42 minutes of hissing microsounds, nervous pulses, impressive rumbles, weak crackles and wavering oscillations among the most intriguing in my recent listening experiences. Russell owns an academic background in biochemistry and it’s all too easy to associate the infinitesimal movements, indeed almost biotic emissions of these pieces to the observation of micro-organisms at work, a continuous hurry of difficultly discernible patterns – but also irregular gaseous matters, subterranean throbs, invisible lights – whose effect is utter saturation of the ears when listened by headphones and a controlled turbulence when the whole diffuses in the room through monitors. Since this stuff lacks a harmonic structure, at least in the traditional sense, listeners could be justified in expecting a coldness of sorts. Not so: the vibration transmitted by this work is the right one, a feel of connection with a superior scheme that only certain kinds of sound are able to elicit. The composer determines changes and gradual developments in the consistency of the sonic materials with intrusive sapience, an acoustic photograph associable to the life cycle of a living entity. Russell’s music might let us hope in some kind of evolution which, looking around at this moment, appears as highly unlikely.
RAY RUSSELL – Goodbye Svengali (Cuneiform)
Virtuosity levigated by large doses of soul characterizes the new album by guitarist Russell, who dedicates his work to his major influence Gil Evans (“Svengali” being Evans’ name anagrammed); the late master arranger is even featured on electric piano in a heartfelt version of Charlie Mingus’ universally known “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat”. Over the course of ten quite deep tracks we’re given the gift of sensitive playing and lyricism diluted in technically advanced compositions, in which Russell is helped by some of jazz-rock’s finest names, people like Gary Husband, Anthony Jackson, Simon Phillips, Mo Foster, Tony Hymas. Miles Evans – Gil’s son – plays beautiful trumpet lines in the great title track, while Russell is also involved in a couple of atmospheric pieces (alone with his guitar or dialoguing with keyboards) exalting his impeccable control on tone and dynamic expressiveness. A timeless album that everybody – guitarists in particular – should analyze carefully, containing gorgeous melodies and most excellent fretwork in the middle of a triangle whose corners are occupied by Jeff Beck, Phil Miller and Yo’ Miles!
RAY RUSSELL QUARTET – Turn circle (Vocalion)
From 1968 to 1973 Ray Russell recorded eight albums for the “Realm Jazz” series of CBS. It was a time in which practically every guitarist in the globe was under the influence of rock – fuzztones and wah wahs everywhere, even in “jazz” records. Coherently with himself and not with that scene, Russell decided to use a completely clean tone for this elegant statement, which sees him flanked by Roy Fry (piano), Ron Mathewson (double bass) and Alan Rushton (drums). The wonderful cover photo shows the members of the Quartet in black and white, the look of bank employees after the lunch break. Still, the music is as distant from credit scoring and loans as you might hope for, all pieces penned by the leader except Wayne Shorter’s “Footprints” and Charles Lloyd’s “Sombrero Sam”, both rendered in exquisite versions. I’m a total sucker for anything well played – no genre excluded – that comes from the Sixties and the Seventies, so this stuff charmingly smiled at my nostalgic apparatus, which seems to need these shots of refined ingenuousness like oxygen. People still had hopes then, believing that pursuing a desire, whatever that was, would lead to something good at the end. It wasn’t meant to be – but these beautiful piano chords, that strange improvisation in “Tremendum” followed by a long yet reflective drum solo, these progressions seemingly known since we were in the womb, everything contributes to highlight a rare chance to look at a past that hasn’t developed into a real “progress” and that one can only keep deep in the heart, not being able to explain what “emotion” really means in a world where playing Tetris on a cell phone is among the daily priorities.
PAUL RUTHERFORD – Iskra 3 (Psi)
Visionary and inexpressible, the work of Paul Rutherford with Robert Jarvis and Lawrence Casserley – who process the sound of trombone through computer manipulations – resists to any kind of classification, as Rutherford’s rotund phrasing is morphed into quasi-indeterminacy, but always within the borders of imperfect – better, mangled – raw beauty. The CD notes suggest that, due to the intrinsic difficulties of these sonic representations, listening should be divided in two halves; yet, I contradicted this advice, enjoying a tumultuous elaboration of nightmarish hermetism in the first act, followed in the second section by a cloudy, amorphous improvisation that puts multi-faceted trombone mutations amidst backgrounds of virtual thunderstorms sounding like they were feeding an overdrive pedal. As in an abstract painting, one detects new traces with every new approach.
PAUL RUTHERFORD – Neuph (Emanem)
Originally issued in 1978, the re-edition of “Neuph” is augmented by two live segments from the Rome and Pisa concerts in 1980. This album sees Rutherford improvising solo and against himself through multitrack techniques (which are also used to add the delightful howling of the dog Judy in “Paunch and Judies”). Paul shows his methods via melodious morsels of persistence and thematic slipstreams bringing out his off-the-record statements, which to this day sound both relaxing and dangerous to normality. In “Phase 2/2″ the old professor superimposes trombone and euphonium – two tracks each – layering series of squiggles that look like the most refined handwriting as we hear the final result. While listening to some of these improvisations, my mind thought about the music converging towards a high point right over my head, like if Rutherford’s many short messages were an indication to a superior level of awareness. We all should try to follow these peculiar signs.
PAUL RUTHERFORD – Solo in Berlin 1975 (Emanem)
While enjoying the splendid documents contained by this CD I remained astonished when reading that their originator tried in vain for many years to get them published, and that the tapes came out from some hidden box only following the trombonist’s death in 2007. Shame, once again, to the wax permeating the ears and brains of people who lack the basics of comprehension and will never be able to feel what it’s like to be graced by the soul of a real artist. This also includes the members of the audience that apparently booed parts of these performances – recorded by Jost Gebers at FMP’s Workshop Freie Musik and Total Music Meeting in March and November 1975 – and that, luckily, Martin Davidson managed to erase from the final version of this edition. The pleasing duty of stressing concepts that the cognoscenti already know very well falls on us: Paul Rutherford was one of the true giants of free improvisation, no questions asked. The 75 minutes of “Solo in Berlin” literally run away too soon, and at the end it seems that we’ve just had a pleasant conversation with a trusted friend. The timbre: so warmly confident, perennially connected with a reality that speaks of bigger and better things even when we’re all starting to see the poverty line, both materially and as far as artistic values are concerned. Hey, he was playing this stuff 33 years ago, you could argue. Correct. Still, this material sounds as fresh as a rose and stays wonderfully intelligent, a rare feature indeed. The technical proficiency: a deadly weapon of tediousness in the wrong hands, merely the sign of a superior way of thinking music in Rutherford’s. The nullification of the need of systematizing matters: because when a wholesome musician plays an instrument and those who listen feel like that person is talking to their essence, this is usually the indication of something special. No sententious speeches from this man, who efficiently looked for the crux of sonic significance. Expressed by a note, a hundred notes, his voice, a series of unpredictable slides, slurs and glissandos, a few hissing vapours and a good-hearted smile. We can’t see it, yet it’s there somewhere. One of the best instrumental solo albums of the last three decades, and I’m writing this after the first of what is going to be a long chain of listens.
PAUL RUTHERFORD TRIO – Gheim (Emanem)
Though this music dates from 1983 it still sounds fresh and stimulating. In a tourbillon of interweaving fingerings, interscapular exhalations and pugnacious shuffling of accents and rhythms, Paul Rutherford’s trombone leads the trio through organic explorations of advanced free idioms, his unique voice well distinguishable in the morphology of two live recordings (originally released on a tape by Ogun) augmented by three mordant improvisations recorded in a studio in the same year. While drummer Nigel Morris joins the context with sapient ruptures and slippery rhythmical extensions, one can’t help noticing the early presence of Paul Rogers’ great talent: his double bass radically extirpates any trace of submission to obviousness, jolting the combustibles in this lively rendezvous of twitchy freewheelers.
JIM RYAN – The Ghost Dog Tour Compilation (Edgetone)
Defined as a “musical bus trip” by the principal, the Ghost Dog Tour originated in 2007 when the main protagonist decided to start an improbable journey through the United States by bus, in order to meet and play with a lot of akin spirits and anarchic personalities constituting what’s described as “an underground vein of creative music running across the nation”. The names are too many to be listed here (although one spots Bruce Eisenbeil and Dave Hofstra) and, among the less known artists, special talents are individuated like “composer, improviser, sculptor and maker of masks and instruments” Douglas R. Ewart, his marvellous didjeridoo parts gracing a track recorded in Minneapolis. A great read, which I strongly recommend, about the concept and the development of this adventure can be found at the label’s website in the Jim Ryan page. As far as the record itself is concerned, in truth this is something that’s pretty unreviewable, such is the extreme variety of settings, moods and tape quality of the document, which lasts 74 minutes. Think of it as a series of Polaroids that, beautifully realized or not, will serve the memory of the traveller while helping us to realize that this was a tough task from the very beginning. What must be remembered is the half-poignant, half-raging sax voice of Ryan, an instrumentalist whose respectable expertise is at the same level of his commitment to the hard core of the purest free improvisation, and the absolute flexibility of all the involved players, who – be it on a demagnetized cassette or in some more acceptable recording medium – sound like if the future depended on the ability to sideswipe genres, thus remaining delivered from categorical impositions. Maybe not rich in money, certainly billionaires in their souls.
JOEL RYAN – Or air (Psi)
Elegantly packaged in a black and white graphic design , “Or air” is a series of acousmatic treatments of pieces and bits of Evan Parker’s music. Though most sources are reassembled in extended tensions and quasi-minimal repetitive currents, Ryan is able to organize several examinations of a very difficult matter, creating orders upon orders of condensed microtonal realities, each one running out of the ordinary to catch the tails of a fractured narrative. In most instances totally fascinating, “Or air” speaks with eloquent authority, raising the curtain on certain aspects of Parker’s sound that are astonishing in this new contextualization as much as they are when Evan plays on his own. When the shadows fall to end the record with the deep introversion of “Oran”, one can’t help giving Ryan his due, acknowledging his assembling mastery and his not too perverse fantasy.
JORGE SAD / GEST(U)ALT ENSAMBLE – Retransmisión (Self-Release)
An absorbing, somewhat disconcerting record by a group of improvisers from Argentina who also interact with live electronics, directed by composer Jorge Sad (who wrote the music but doesn’t play a part with any instrument in this interpretation). Based on Antonin Artaud’s radiophonic opus “Pour en finir avec le jugèment de Dieu”, “Retransmisión” interchanges a type of conscious instrumental emancipation – sophisticated in principle, still almost entirely free of clichés – to a cycle of materializations of voices from radio and television in a variety of languages (if I’m not off beam, mostly reporting about the war in Iraq), Artaud’s disturbing voice highlighting the whole via the original vinyl recording, left without any refurbishment in order for “the sound of time” to remain unmodified. The timbres of flute, clarinet, waqra-phuku and percussion are subjected to the treatment of Max/MSP software, yet the general nature of the performance remains in the province of blood, sweat and tears, several vivid snapshots with screaming people and anxious mindsets becoming the starting point of a severe uneasiness. The CD contains a bonus video track where a portion of the theatrical action can be witnessed. All in all, a release from which substantial doses of weightiness transpire, that constituent being particularly welcome in this era of shallow values.
DORON SADJA – A piece of string, a sunset (12k)
Working mostly on the borders of humanly audible frequencies and dividing the octave scale into 144 pitches, Doron Sadja gives life to music which is difficult, powerful, intense and delicate at the same time. To put it mildly, I don’t think that everyone can appreciate this kind of expressive means: one must force a good measure of attention to really understand the way in which frequencies manifest themselves (you also have to be a bit careful not to over-expose your ears to them, but that’s another story). But those who are gifted with the required patience will be surely rewarded by talkative pulses, purring lows, electro/splitting harmonic waves and the occasional regular instrument approaching the whole (as a matter of fact, electric guitar and violin are utilized in various parts of the record). Sadja’s sound makes a good impression, revealing a unique depth while avoiding to run after someone else’s shadow.
SAKADA – 30 November 2002 (Sound 323)
Eddie Prevost and Mattin’s approach to improvisation consists of developing a neat gossamer of intimate conversations under the guise of computer feedback and percussives. In this mini CD – another little gem in the nice Sound 323 collection – everything’s permeated with the right attitude: Sakada quiz and test each other, exchanging a lot more than simple suggestions, tending instead to reciprocate those little presents each one offers to his counterpart. In between calm moments, sudden fluxes of electroacoustic effluvia pounce into the room, the unmistakable sign everything’s functioning at the right moment. This music is sturdy yet articulate, succeeding in carving a personal niche without borrowing from influences.
SAKADA – Never give up on the margins of logic (Antiopic)
This expanded lineup of Sakada was recorded live in London’s 2003 Freedom of the City festival. The addition of three strings/texture players (Rhodri Davies, Margarida Gracia, Mark Wastell) makes sure that forms and expressions come straight from the gut rather than being dislocated in apparently extraneous capsules. Well proportioned systems work symbiotically and there’s a slight AMM flavour somewhere; the details are exceptionally clear, the musicians maintaining a mysterious restraint which is the basis for a kind of laboratory soundtrack where each sonic alchemist wants to make companions aware of his important discovery. At a mere 17-plus minutes, this 3-inch is just a glimpse into a unique fascinating resonant network.
SAKADA – Askatuta (Therhizomelabel)
Eddie Prevost, Mattin and Xabier Erkizia are captured in a live recording from 2003 which most of all demonstrates the adaptability of unconventional sounds to different aspects of improvisation, also reproducing quite well their intercourse with the surrounding space, be it the performance or the listening’s. Prevost rubs and strikes in his most personal jargons, percussive mastery sustaining the heaviest silences while his persona seems barely present, except for some more violent outbursts. He’s finely embraced by Mattin and Erkizia, whose computers’ feedback and various emissions (plus an ultra-minimal accordion) not only penetrate a concept of totality, redefining the relationship between raw sources and education of the unprepared, but also find a niche in the outside world’s soundtracks, becoming part of a precisely framed interval of our life. The CD ends with a short segment where we hear the artists – in “rehearsal”? – talking to each other after emitting more sonic oddities; even this conclusion is out of any expectancy.
MATTHIEU SALADIN – Intervalles (L’innomable)
One should point out that L’innomable’s consistency over the years has never diminished, thus making for some of the most interesting releases that regularly stuff this writer’s mailbox. “Intervalles” confirms this positive trend, presenting nine segments of electroacoustic music of the finest blend, the one that confounds and astounds while delivering the senses from any residual non-cooperation with our body’s functions. Saladin works with bass clarinet and soprano saxophone, subjecting them to a surgical computer treatment that distillates their timbral marrow until they become the purest sonic extracts that human ears are able to decode. Unsettling subterranean hums have our thorax resonating in consonance with the auricular membranes in “41″, while tinnitus-inducing frequencies tinge the air in “18″; from another front, “17″ hypnotizes through a Carl Stone-like organic minimalism. Although all the tracks are born from improvisations, Saladin is so attuned with the processes – and relative analyses – that he just seems to put a mechanism at work while standing in attentive observation. The outcome of these experiments, yielding not only stillness but also subdural ebulliency, is a defreezing element against the ice that covers our instinctive refusal of technological excess. In a way, “Intervalles” is comparable to radiotherapy – but it sure works much better.
MATTHIEU SALADIN – Stock Exchange Piece (w.m.o/r)
One of my most pronounced cultural limits (…alright, “culture” is an unrecognized concept here, but let’s just pretend it exists…) is the comprehension of the mechanisms at work in the Stock Exchange market, something which “real world” occurrences depend on, and yet I never cared a iota about that. Furthermore, every time I look at those sharp-dressed operators chocking themselves while performing their specialist language of signs, my mind decrees that pigeons could very well be designing our future political and economic developments. Now, Matthieu Saladin found a way for this man to appreciate at least a smidgen of Stock Exchange behavioural implications. He associated different frequencies of sine waves to the rates and indexes of gold and light sweet crude oil, then proceeded to generate an electronic composition out of their fluctuations. One would expect a sonic mayhem akin to a Wall Street chaos of bleeps, purrs and mumbles, right? Wrong. What’s left is a simple parallelism of high and low pulsating undulations, whose interior movement accelerates or decelerates in a gradually evolving pseudo-immobility. Picture a much colder, less rich version of Eliane Radigue’s “Trilogie de la Mort” and you’ll get a vague idea of how this stuff sounds like. A little more dope in the reproduction – speakers are mandatory – and the oscillating pulses become strikingly muscular, resounding presences all around the house, thickness varying depending on the position we’re in. Very installation-oriented, intelligently minimal. And you don’t even need an Armani suit to enjoy it.
MATTHIEU SALADIN – 4’33”/0’00” (Éditions Provisoires)
Now this is what I call a great cover of John Cage’s most celebrated statement, the key that – more than anything else – opened the door to thousands of nonentities all over the world affirming “I, too, am an artist”. Saladin amplified at maximum possible level the first released edition of “Four minutes and thirty-three seconds”, the one on the Cramps label interpreted by Gianni Emilio Simonetti. The outcome is just static noise: cranked-up sibilance with an avalanche of granular disturbance. All things considered, not sure if Cage would have appreciated this version – but if you put the mini CD in “repeat” mode the neighbours could manifest a less-than-Zen attitude towards your musical taste in the next condominium meeting.
PHILIP SAMARTZIS – Soft and loud (Microphonics)
With “Soft and loud”, Samartzis has definitively arrived to the top class of acousmatic composition. The perfection of this sonic architecture – created with field recordings of Tokyo and artificial sounds mixed in a network of silences and complex intersections – must be appreciated in a totally quiet listening room, even if a total comprehension of the full spectrum of the phenomena is out of the question (in fact, this work was primarily conceived for an eight-channel surround playback). The extraordinary “concrete/abstract” relationship between the sources explicates itself in every moment of the disc: fire, birds, human voices, urban landscapes move around textural inventions and sophisticated interactions of normality with anxious anarchy. The details are finely crafted, yet the overall effect has a “natural” aura rarely experienced in modern electroacoustic opuses, which often suffer from chronic coldness and nonsensical difficulty. Making the right decisions at the right times, Philip stamps his highly personal mark with a record that, in my opinion, couldn’t go any further in terms of emotional and rational balance, therefore becoming an instant classic in his genre.
PHILIP SAMARTZIS – Unheard spaces (Microphonics)
The two thirds of “Unheard spaces” are occupied by the title track, which Samartzis describes as his try of portraying Venice “in new and innovative ways by focusing exclusively on its sonic characters”; for their large part, the latter include various kinds of indigenous oral expression. Now, like every idiom in the world, Italian might sound “strange”, “musical”, “peculiar” to most non-Italians, as much as this writer receives the same feeling by listening to Vietnamese or Scandinavian people talking, but is left quite indifferent by hearing his own mother tongue spoken in an opus like this one. This means that my appreciation of “Unheard spaces” as a composition is necessarily partial towards its environmental sounds rather than the vocal ones; while I recognize the spectacular quality of the recording and the painstaking assemblage that the composer realized with all the sources, I can only push myself to really love just some of the field work heard here – most of all, the chug of the ferry boats, the tolling of the bell towers, the wonderful detail of the laguna’s backwash and the gorgeous heavy rain that closes the album. But as far as human voices are concerned, I just hear them as a “normal” sound (at times even a little annoying for my own nature, which does not approve the typical Italian habit of making noise and speaking loud everywhere, kids and adults alike) for the very reasons explained above. That’s not Samartzis’ fault of course, and all of the above won’t be a problem for most listeners. Therefore “Unheard spaces” remains a compelling piece of musique concrete on any level. The initial track “Absence and presence” is instead a splendid alternance of noise and hush, generated by Sean Baxter (drums), David Brown (electroacoustic guitar), Anthea Caddy (cello) and Thembi Soddell (field recordings and sampler) interacting with the principal (here featured on field recordings and electronics) and with four loudspeakers, according to parameters better described in the liner notes of the CD. This architecture causes the musicians to reciprocally “respond”, so that two or three of them – never all five – give birth to multiform interplay. In several sections Michael Vorfeld improvises on percussion, acting as a human glue between the glacial character of electronics and feedback and the more natural, if equally complex, instrumental gestures of the players. Uncompromising music from every point of view.
PHILIP SAMARTZIS / GUNTER MULLER / VOICE CRACK – Wireless within (For 4 Ears)
Recorded in 2002, this CD contains the last audible traces of Voice Crack before Andy Guhl and Norbert Möslang decided to part ways. As it’s often the case with this magnificent Swiss label, what’s captured on disc thrives for the most part on an unstable equilibrium of next-to-breakage electronic circuits and found sounds lodged in tiny holes; in this particular instance, an Australian rainforest also provides beautiful birds and annoying insects in exquisite dialogue with Voice Crack’s “cracked everyday electronics” complemented by seriously stirring ambiences and piercing overacute tones masterfully served by Samartzis and Müller. One can’t separate what happens by accident from pre-programmed events; everything belongs in the list of partially expected results from the analytical systematization of noise, which in the sapient hands of these mad scientists become as pleasing as one can hope. The music mixes perfectly with our ordinary activity, requiring only a modicum of attention for us to remember it exists and works for itself.
PHILIP SAMARTZIS / SACHIKO M – Artefact (Dorobo)
Sinewaves everywhere, silently building a new aural space right where you’re standing, encapsulating all your sensations into a single body of thought. Everything is born from substantial frequencies and modified compact discs, whose skipping beat is the heart of this unknown yet fascinating world where equilibrium is just forgotten in favour of a new listening habit. Somehow linked to the core of our brain, Samartzis and Sachiko M slowly penetrate through the cracks of individual conscience, releasing their invisible energy with cold authority while remaining out of sight; their music is a powerful sign of change, a departure from the already solidified shapes of what too often computer music sounds like. Every stage of these unbelievable transmutations is a progressive immersion into something hitting the nerves remarkably hard, but which does not impose its will with that force, rather subtracting the sources of identification in our – by now expired – aesthetic codes.
STEN SANDELL TRIO + JOHN BUTCHER – Strokes (Clean Feed)
To an already difficult-sounding unit that features leader Sandell on piano, voice and electronics plus Johan Bertling (double bass) and Paal Nilssen-Love (drums and percussion), the addition of a figure like John Butcher – here on tenor and soprano saxophones, amplification and feedback – constitutes yet another problematic element for reviewers to try and sketch what’s played by these amiable explorers. Divided into two long improvisations (“Study” and “Unsteady”) and a final short postlude (“Steady”), the album is one of the most irksome ever released by Pedro Costa’s label. This is not a surprise, given the ever-introverted, but often almost explosive nature of Sandell’s playing, his piano clusters and uncommon intervallic designs propelling the group in that kind of abstract expression that’s typical of unconstrained talent but also pretty hard to memorize, even only vaguely. Bertling’s work is excellent throughout, his constant try to alternate intense arco layers and sustained aggressions supported by the never-exhausted fantasy of Nilssen-Love, who seems to imagine his set like a flourishing rhythmic plant from which taking the right leaves and flowers of inspiration to reproduce them on the spot any minute. On his side, Butcher aliments the batteries of subversion with his trademark overtone-based trajectories and spirals of purposeful instant creativity. Yet he’s also the one who tries designing a couple of more detailed wreaths, at times tranquilizing his playing a couple of tads amidst numerous irregular protuberances. Nervous, intelligent music that necessitates all the passion that we, analysts of technically-gifted free expertise, can bring out from within. The first listen won’t give a clue; from the second on, you could be lured into a perilous quicksand which will likely swallow your reluctance.
STEN SANDELL / DAVID STACKENHAS / EVAN PARKER / BARRY GUY / PAUL LYTTON – Gubbröra (Psi)
This music has been recorded live at Freedom of the City 2004. The two long improvisations by Sandell and Stackenhas on piano, electronics, voice and guitar are moderate affairs where the pleasure of enjoying a large open space is complementary to the renitency to speak when not absolutely necessary. The duo has a good acoustic vibe – we can almost smell the instruments’ wood during several interconnections where freehearted conversations are interrupted only by a look to each other’s imagination. The intervention of the Parker/Guy/Lytton trio in the almost 34 minutes of the title track is tangential, yet it dictates a series of new instigations to movement: while Lytton and Guy build instant permutations of commonly intended bass/drums dialogs, Parker takes a handful of frisky periods and leaves them to mature in the pale light of a reassuring knowledge.
SANDOZ LAB TECHNICIANS – The Western lands (Last Visible Dog)
Renowned both for their “absolutely lo-fi” approach to recording and the scarce number of releases in many years of activity, SLT present three tracks – two shorter ones and a long suite, the latter being their very first digital recording – that show no interest whatsoever for any kind of classification. The ritual follows its own course of trippy-ish rhythmless wailing and fingering, be it through detuned guitar strings, sparse electric piano chords that would make us believe in the existence of a zombie version of Chick Corea, unusual reed instruments and more or less involuntary saturation of the amplifiers (and tapes, of course). For good measure, SLT add water in a couple of instances to give their playing a more “natural” vibe, but they really needed not to, as this music rather flows like an industrial sewer polluting the limpid seas of consonance. The best moments are the ones in which the sound remains confined in motionlessness, a modicum of dazed mantric radiation giving our ears a well-deserved “relief” after sustaining bings, springs, whistles and zings of every conceivable kind. But even the most inaccessible parts can offer nice deviations from the norm of improvisation, and I found them helpful in my walkman to cover the ongoing idiotic conversations around me. Useful and often pleasurable noise, whose gradations are atypical enough to overcome the risk of boredom.
MATTHEW SANSOM / RHODRI DAVIES – Live uncut vol.1 (A Question Of Re_entry)
Difficult to say what Sansom and Davies had in mind when they started these two improvisations, but that’s not a problem at all. The result is what counts – about 33 minutes of quasi-autistic, semi-silent poetry made of imperceptible frying hiss, glimpses of drones, liquid crackles, ear-drilling highs, rumbling distances, emerging nothingness, conscious restraint. Conveying the right words to represent certain kinds of music is getting tricky, especially when those emissions seem to point directly to the cerebral regions dealing with self-examination. Written sentences are actually useless if a listener is not gifted with the capacity of distinguishing colours in sounds (which is also the secret behind the famous concept of “perfect pitch” and – sorry – no study, exercise or meditation can help you there, despite what your favourite blather-master might be trying to assert). Here we find an apparently restricted palette that, on the contrary, contains hundreds of different harmonics – combinations, choirs and clashes of them. There are sections that elicited the conjuring up of abstruse images like “gong resonance filtered by kitchenware”, or “brain scanned through a hostile rainbow”. What do these expressions mean? Nothing. Did I feel better while listening to this CDR? Absolutely. Highly recommended, the Spartan sleeve notwithstanding – Nicolas Malevitsis has by now grown us used to disguising little treasures under poverty-stricken covers, so no real surprise in this case.
MICHAEL SANTOS – Matters (Benbecula)
Hailing from Leeds, Michael Santos is an electronic composer who works with guitars, synthesizers and minidisc recordings, “Matters” being his debut CD, a very nice one in its glorious accessibility. Harsh textures are interspersed with sharp descriptions of imaginary ambiences, the whole reconciling with that area of music which is inflated by third-rate Fennesz wannabes, crippled-crystal laptop abusers and the likes. There are truly significant moments in here: the initial “Sounds like déjà vu” is a vaporous concoction of static mutability and beautiful glissando loops that catches the ear and the heart, while “Early Nineties” comes out of your woofers like a kidnapped child who managed to escape from his prison and wanders at night in the country, trying to find a way to definitive safety. Even the “easier” tracks, which never surpass the “excess of honey” level anyway, own a distinct trait separating Santos’ work from the above mentioned mass producers of futility. “Matters” is a graceful collection of candid instrumental explorations; it works very well both by headphones and as soft ambient presence. Give it a try.
MICHAEL SANTOS – Soft pocket (U-cover)
Ever since the first moments of the opening track “Peak” one realizes that “Soft pocket” is a special record; melancholic loops and curious disturbances go hand in hand, then stabilize into a fixed, gentle drone until the music fades out. Coming in a limited edition of 155 copies and containing a beautiful insert with a black and white double exposure photograph by Koen Lybaert, this CDR confirms Michael Santos among the most noteworthy young electronic composers in recent years, one of those artists who exploit every creative germ until it becomes a fully developed virus of aural pleasure. Sequenced fragmentations and delicate chordal suggestions are at the basis of pieces that are as fragile as mudpies, ready to be leveled even by the most merciful wave, yet agonizingly beautiful to contemplate until they resist, only because they are the result of a pure soul’s effort. “Hub” is another splendid moment of the album, beginning with a cross between an undecipherable subterranean choir and a deep contraption that resolves into a series of hisses sounding like compressed air, while “Energy turtle” recalls that very animal’s struggle to the sea as soon as they have left their eggs. “Different draft” is dramatic and achingly radiant, distortion and illumination fused into one. The compositional talent of Michael Santos shines in the light of simplicity, his music a possible stimulus for many to forget abstruse concepts and let the heart do the speaking. I don’t know if they already know each other, but this man and Taylor Deupree should collaborate as soon as possible, since they seem to share the same kind of aesthetic poetry. Meanwhile, catch this charmer fast.
MICHAEL SANTOS – The happy error (Baskaru)
This is Michael Santos’ first official disc following two limited edition CDRs, and its emergence on the French Baskaru label doesn’t actually come as a shock, given the territories frequently stopped over by the people who publish their music on this imprint. In virtue of my positive reception of Santos’ previous works, I was a little apprehensive after reading a particularly unenthusiastic review of this record elsewhere on the web. That occurrence confirmed – if there were lingering uncertainties – that one should never rely on reviews, except mine (just kidding). As a matter of fact, this is an admirable display of the Leeds-based artist’s knack for creating what the press release accurately defines as “songs without words in which digital glitches and computer filters replace vocals”. In truth, what distinguishes this man from the crowd of laptop-equipped dilettantes running around the lawns of inconsistency is precisely that element of sub-skin melody that is not reticent, coming at the forefront of a piece whenever the occasion arises. Be it a three-note phrase or a reiterative pulse, establishing a foundation upon which a whole not-so-usual harmonic citadel is built corresponds to a must for Santos, who indisputably uses digital pollution more “tunefully” than others. “The happy error” doesn’t contain the slightest degree of unruliness (except perhaps for a single, noisier track towards the end of the CD); everything is flawlessly structured, hardly stroked by a light sense of evocativeness often improved by evident throbs from the lowlands of frequency.
SANTO SUBITO – Xavier (Accretions)
“Santo subito” (in Italian that means “saint now”) was the faithful’s cry after the death of Pope John Paul II. Steven Dye plays bass clarinet and self built instruments that use a membrane “to excite or vibrate an air column”, all defined by the name “Flubaphonics”; Milton Cross is an accomplished violinist and pianist active since many years, during which he collaborated – among others – with Tarentel and Dielectric Drone All-Stars. Does all this mean that “Xavier” is somehow definable? Not for a second. The uneven frequency beatings and android glissandos that reeds, membranes and strings elicit in more than one section are a heavenly dissonance often nearing the borders of a mild-mannered traffic jam; there are intense melancholies too, making me think about my old Dan Ar Bras vinyl albums melted by the heat of a malfunctioning stove. Lo and behold, a periphrasis for Steve Reich’s “Violin phase” appears at the beginning of “Radiosonde”, soon mutating in a vivid recollection of abraded chamber music invented on the spot by Dye and Cross in one of their previous existences. The final “Farewell Bouy” is pure slanted romanticism. Give this album a try – pronto.
SAP(e) – Sap(e) (Rude Awakening)
Arrived at their second release, Sap(e) are Aurélien Besnard on clarinet, Christophe Devaux on prepared guitar and Guillaume Contré on laptop, all of them active in various fields of contemporary music, from avant jazz to theatre and modern dance soundtrack. Interested in the “restriction of material”, nevertheless they behave according to rules that neither belong to EAI’s nor to reductionism’s book, the three movements of the disc showing their consistency without masks or reticence. In the first, Contré’s basic soundscapes constitute a pretty solid grounding of continuous noise, be it rumble, electronic wind or fixed synthetic drones, over which Besnard’s clarinet emits long notes, purring exhalations and invisible wheezing spectres, while Devaux transforms the sounds of his guitar into disembodied repetitive figures and underground metallic boiling; the final section fuses clarinet and laptop in an unfriendly radiation broken by the dispersed laments of a bird about to be electrocuted. The second (and best) track is less tranquil, more dissonant if you will, with screeching samples interrupting the dialogues between a subdued pumping clarinet and lightly stricken guitar strings. After a while, volumes and intensities are raised up a few notches, the music nearer to free improvisation than minimalism; but it’s not going to last and we’re soon back to assembly-line repetition in a blurred, gloomy, loop-ish atmosphere, ended by Devaux with splendid featureless narratives contrasted by his frequency-fighting comrades. Beginning the third instalment, we’re welcomed by the most tantalizing music of the whole disc, a distant deep insufflation the basis for additional spiraliform jangling and spurious computerized insertions; picture being trapped in an elevator whose motor keeps going even if you’re not moving of an inch. Suddenly, the guitar makes its presence more noticeable, but is soon overwhelmed by a throbbing insistence which introduces a few minutes of mental discomfort, until we’re left alone with a malaised, weak loop. The record is over and it’s truly a surprise, a honourable effort by three artists who I hadn’t heard of before. Almost one hour, and I didn’t get bored for a minute. Bravo.
BERNARDO SASSETTI – Alice (Trem Azul)
“Alice” is director Marco Martins’ opera prima, a movie dealing with the anguish and solitude of a father whose daughter has mysteriously disappeared. He looks for her everywhere, to the point of placing many cameras throughout Lisbon in the hope of finding out where she is. Due to this search, his existence becomes a necessary routine, the only way to feel that she’s still with him, because he’s sure that, by interrupting this circle, he would lose her forever. Bernardo Sassetti realized the movie’s soundtrack with his customary sensitiveness, deciding to limit the timbral palette to three colours – his piano, Rui Rosa’s clarinet and Yuri Daniel’s double bass – thus creating what’s probably his most “minimalist” album, an opus that lives beyond its commentary scope and touches deeply with its simple structures and dejected melodic sketches. As a matter of fact, one of the main themes is a clear homage to the Philip Glass of “Glassworks” and “Koyaanisqatsi”, but Sassetti adds spice by subjecting the chromatic line to a 7/4 structure that melts its hypnotic quality down a little. Rosa and Daniel’s intense participation to the music’s sad intensity complements the composer’s almost obsessive figurations in splendid fashion, letting us have a glance at the complex system of dazed gestures and desperate, if silent mournings of a man whose loneliness is concrete and burning. The sounds of the city appear every once in a while to highlight and, absurdly, enhance this incessant sorrow. If I’m not wrong, only a Portuguese version of the movie exists on DVD; while we wait for a larger distribution, getting yourself a copy of this beautiful score is certainly easier – and, of course, recommended.
BERNARDO SASSETTI – Nocturno (Clean Feed)
“Nocturno” is made of elegant jazz that moves with a mixture of laconicism and sadness, both typical features of this composer’s music; the players comprise the leader on piano, Carlos Barretto on double bass and Alexandre Frazão on drums. Johnny Mandel and Paul Webster’s “Time for love” starts the album with that kind of melancholic ballad upon which many artists have built their fortune on, while “Sonho dos outros” continues on that path, its sorrowfulness slightly adjusted in an atmosphere recalling certain seminal ECM releases of the seventies. The linear trajectories and overall clarity of the title track are its major strengths; on the other hand, “Olhar” strangely reminds me of Vince Guaraldi’s instrumentals in the “Charlie Brown Christmas” soundtrack, except for its middle-eastern refrain. Federico Mompou is represented by two versions of “Musica callada Mov.1″ – the first a poignant trio with a splendid arcoed exposition by Barretto, the second for solo piano – and “Cançon No.7″, whose easier development is never perceived as a limit for beauty. One just have to read the title of “Monkais” to understand that this is the most angular piece of the whole disc, Frazão sustaining its dissonant architecture with excellent dynamism (plus a very nice drum solo). Even at its most accessible level, the music of Sassetti never fails to entice and, one way or another, conquer our soul.
BERNARDO SASSETTI – Unreal: sidewalk cartoon (Clean Feed)
The roads of contemporary jazz are often impracticable, due to the mud of complexity that makes the walk between freedom and pedantic rules difficult to the point of leaving the music dictate the moment when one doesn’t want to know anymore. But an album like “Unreal: sidewalk cartoon”, which touches genres with the same levity of a butterfly fluttering amidst spring flowers, is the concrete proof of the existence of pure talent, even in the total congestion generated by releases that we’re often forced to swallow these days. What transpires from this music, first and foremost, is Sassetti’s unbelievable sensitiveness; he’s able to depict delicacy with a couple of chords crossing a marimba vamp (“Coreografia de um jogo lento”) while confirming his bravura as a composer of soundtracks – although there is no movie here – using all the colours at his disposal with parsimonious genius (bordering on the Zappaesque, if only for short glimpses). He’s helped by a wealth of splendid musicians: a percussion ensemble, a mixed brass and woodwind quintet named Cromeleque, the Saxofinia sax quartet, plus a few of the best instrumentalists on the Portuguese scene (except saxophonist Perico Sambeat who hails from Spain). Echoes of Eberhard Weber and Rainer Bruninghaus are traceable in my overall favourite moment of the disc, the melancholic “I left my heart in Algandaros de Baixo”, whose precious piano work is among the best things I’ve heard in the last few years, regardless of the genre. A touch of Kenny Wheeler here, a Thelonious Monk cover there, some spicy cross-pollinations of Oregon, Mingus and Bacharach; there’s also an ironic “parental advisory” sticker that alerts about a potential excess of polyrhythmics. But fear not intrepid listener, as “Unreal” is as much assimilable as every masterpiece – for this album is certainly one, a milestone in Bernardo Sassetti’s career and a fundamental textbook for anybody interested in the art of arrangement and orchestration. A careful listen to the leader’s digital mastery won’t do much harm, either.
BERNARDO SASSETTI – Dùvida (Trem Azul)
Besides being a talented pianist and composer, Bernardo Sassetti is among the best soundtrack artists around today, the father of masterpieces such as “Alice” (a film by Marco Martins which he scored, touching my heart in every minute). “Dùvida”, which features the Orquestra Sinfonietta de Lisboa in several of its passages, is not on the same level of that milestone yet remains an excellent example of how to use different shades in an arrangement while exploiting one or two simple concepts by putting them at work in diverse circumstances. This is the commentary to a theatre performance held in 2007 at the Teatro Maria Matos in Lisbon, which Sassetti underlines and characterizes through his customary piano-based revelations mixing heavy-hearted melancholy and romantic variations on minimalism. What’s perceived as the recurring theme sounds a bit like a cross of Philip Glass circa “Glassworks” and the arpeggio of “Anyway” (Genesis, “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway”). A too simplistic description maybe, yet this must not detract from the many qualities of the album, which utilizes repetition and delicacy as non-invasive reminders of the fact that life is not, and will never be, just something limited to the sheer trust in a “superior entity” without striving for the betterment of our earthly presence. Sassetti’s music is the kind of soul-opening expression that results as grieving as the passage from adolescence to adulthood in sensitive beings, giving the idea of phases of existence that can be recollected but won’t return.
BERNARDO SASSETTI TRIO² – Ascent (Clean Feed)
OK, in case you didn’t notice I’ve become an ardent Bernardo Sassetti fan. A latecomer if there was ever one, this won’t prevent your writer to ramble once more about a previously missed record – released in 2005 – that the kindness of Clean Feed’s Pedro Costa allowed me to receive and enjoy. “Ascent” was played by the leader on piano, flanked by Ajda Zupancic (cello), Jean-François Lezé (vibraphone), Carlos Barretto (bass) and Alexandre Frazão (drums), all musicians executing their parts with intense participation and top-flight technical preparation. The mixture of slightly dissonant thematic materials and heartbreaking mournfulness typical of this man’s sound, of which we also find special trace in an album like “Alice”, is here again. Zupancic’s cello lines, absolutely poignant in the rare occasions in which she appears, constitute an additional element of dejected reflection that gives this music a scent of graceful introspection and fragile purity. In that sense, “Naquele Tempo” becomes the symbol of the whole album in its beautiful sadness, and I instantly associated this feeling to an episode witnessed just yesterday, Christmas’ Eve: a tiny child walking in the street – parents there but mentally absent, avulse from reality in search of last-minute presents – inadvertently dropped his pink plush animal. Realizing about it, he ran back, picked it up from the floor, looked deeply into the toy’s eyes while gently brushing it to clean the road dirt, then planted a delicate kiss on its snout, continuing to walk amidst grown-ups who didn’t see a second of what happened. I just wonder how that little big man will do in this decaying world given the evident sensitiveness of his young soul. All of the above only to give you a comparison of sorts to what Sassetti’s art manages to touch in perceptive receivers, likely to be moved by a uniquely poetic way of making music. Something that’s never extraneous to a profound awareness that can hurt, and hurt bad if one’s not in line with the ever-expanding mediocrity of the present times.
SATANICPORNOCULTSHOP – Zap Meemees (Sonore)
While I didn’t appreciate Satanicpornocultshop’s previous Sonore release “Anorexia gas balloon” too much, this time I’m positively surprised by the quality permeating most of this record – sort of a “best of” by this Japanese plunderphonic collective – as in several tracks they reach pure excellence. Trying to describe this music is next to impossible; the best way to listen to it is putting your headphone on and let your equilibrium get scrambled and stomped by a high-octane engine of perpetual change where found sounds, traditional material and pop music are shaken, edited and deformed like in a deranged radio station whose DJ has undergone some “Matrix”-like data overload treatment. Enjoy these cut-ups while stunned in front of your TV during action-packed series – I tried with “Dark Angel” and the effect was astonishing – and listen to the great conclusion, a ghost track with Elton John, Black Sabbath and John Lennon among the sampled guests. Skip the useless covers (Kylie Minogue, Duran Duran, Velvet Underground) and play fabulous stuff like “Jag Meemee” ten times instead.
MINORU SATO (m/s, SASW) + ASUNA – Textures in glass tubes and reed organ (Spekk)
There are occasions in which the theoretical explanation behind a music piece is much more complicated than the opus itself. Japanese sound artists Sato and Asuna, who have worked with “pure vibration” in the live installation area under several circumstances and with partners such as Toshiya Tsunoda, justify their artistic act with the will of creating “a narrative about the phenomena which resonate through constructed sounds”. According to this view, the choice of glass tubes and reed organ seems appropriate, in that the resonating frequencies of the sources mesh very well both in a reciprocal sense and across the listening space. Translation: this is a record that should result quite appealing to those who love large rooms filled up with softly dissonant static waves leaving the door ajar until ears and brain do the additional work, i.e. generating imaginary patterns and pulses. Names that spring to mind: Folke Rabe, Jim O’Rourke, Charlemagne Palestine. I know, you were expecting “Phill Niblock” or “Eliane Radigue”, but the undulations heard here lack the corpulent thunder of the sub-basses characterizing the most enthralling offers by the above mentioned stalwarts, instead shifting the focus on the higher register of the organ and the brightest spots of the glass. It might resemble a classic album of meditative trance, yet an attentive look reveals a fine handcraft of interpenetrating textures that definitely pushes this effort towards the next-to-excellence rank.
JAMES SAUNDERS – # [unassigned] (Confront)
This piece is defined as an “ongoing modular composition” by its inventor, which means that each version sounds totally different, as new modules are added to pre-existing structures every time that it is performed. In this double CD we’re offered interpretations for cello (Anton Lukoszevieze) and clarinet (Andrew Sparling), yet this music can also be scored for larger groups. Saunders, whose resume includes various prizes and performances throughout UK and Europe, suggests that the two discs can be played together – not necessarily synchronized – from different machines, possibly using the “random” function, so that each listening session can determine new colours and combinations in an ever-growing number of executions. The composer will forgive me if I didn’t follow this advice but, given the reductionist clothing characterizing the semblance of this opus, whose 98% is based on tiny instrumental gestures, feeble harmonics and impalpable vibrations, I decided to listen to the CDs singularly – first on headphones, then by mixing them with the external environment of a torrid Saturday afternoon complete with cicadas, barely registered breeze and the faraway engines of the bikers tripping in the valley, this aural decoupage yielding the best results of the whole experience. Every note – even the apparently weak ones – seems to gain purpose while measuring against a scheme of things that emphasizes Saunders’ deep knowledge of the relationship between sound and silence. Very seldom the players decide to let the steam go through sudden spikes in the intensity level, too short to represent a real change in the global structure. A closer inspection reveals a multitude of involuntary probabilistic occurrences, leading us to imagine the existence of some kind of recurring theme; but that’s not the case. The excellent playing by both virtuosos notwithstanding, I must confess a slight preference for Lukoszevieze’s cello, an instrument more congenial to the introspective aura which this difficult work is gifted with.
SAWAKO – Yours gray (And/OAR)
In this brief series of ear movies, where snapshots of real world activities are conveniently paired to disparate electronic sources, sound artist Sawako brings out her view of a singular – if quite hidden – tuning between what’s perceived in our daily life and a combination of psychoacoustic materials which assume a leading role in developing the raw document of a location into a well determined mental state. In “Cache cache” Toshi Nakamura lends his piercing controlled feedback to the ambience of what’s described as a “quiet residential area by the sea”, while the best overall track for sheer compositional skill is probably “Night midlight”, an insinuating intercourse between Sawako’s processed sounds and voice and Mitchell Akiyama’s looped/treated piano. Concentrating her efforts in 36 minutes or so, this woman breaks more than one barrier between simple brooding and active listening, keeping many things unsaid – but visible anyway.
MARCO SCARASSATTI / MARCELO BOMFIM / NELSON PINTON – Sonax (Creative Sources)
The big bang-like spreading out of Creative Sources’ catalogue reveals the emergence of a Brazilian trio who specializes in sound sculptures, juxtaposing the voice of weird metallic creatures and spare radiator parts with prepared acoustic guitars, piano and bamboo flutes. The non-homogeneity of this proposal could potentially push into dangerous waters: god only knows how many collections of throwaway noises and pushed furniture we have listened for all these years, in the name of supposedly advanced artistries hiding a widespread lack of substance. Despite the existence of tracks that do not exactly shine with superior inventiveness, “Sonax” is mostly a rewarding album, the haptic quality of its material making sure that elements of compactness are maintained even during the sections in which the music fluctuates between structural clarity and natural tendency to sonic indulgence. Fine flashes are especially to be found after the halfway mark: “Movimento pendular” resonates with intense vibrations and gleaming drops of ringing mellowness, then mutates into a rusted seesaw of chafed frequencies; “Estudo para uma improvisação sem desenvolvimento” begins with creepy symptoms and unsettling tremulous recurrences, the whole interspersed by echoing knocks and ululating strings which shift the piece’s gravity towards the more percussive phase of circumspectness until a full, if not excessively ample gamut of sonant nebulosity is exposed. The insufflations characterizing “Lacuna” – reverberations of flutes and night-time currents bathed in rumbling murmur – made me want to remain completely motionless, unwilling to disturb a suddenly materialized stillness.
JANEK SCHAEFER – Migration (Bip Hop)
Originally conceived as a soundtrack for a site-specific dance by Noémie Lafrance, “Migration” is also a fine specimen of Schaefer’s audio documentary, music that crosses the boundaries between a sheer description of a trip – being it real or just imaginary – and the uncomfortable sensation of standing in front of a giant door introducing to an oneiric world where acoustic phenomena have the same importance of magnetic attraction in opposite poles. Through his well known ability to squeeze evocative images of sonic biology from the manipulation of locked vinyl grooves and competent sampling, Schaefer creates textural experiences that can be sublime – throbbing underground pulses accompany our heartbeat; organ loops depict the movement to a superior sphere – or, in some case, a tad more predictable, with natural/environmental sounds and city noises (which, thanks to Janek compositional dexterity, are nevertheless equally pleasing). Everything seems to spring from an extraordinary dimension, alimented by many unknown forces in conjunction with a strong interiority.
JANEK SCHAEFER – In the last hour (Room40)
Janek Schaefer’s most recent output shows that he’s currently kissed by the grace. After the “Hidden name” masterpiece with Stephan Mathieu here comes “In the last hour”, another necessity for listeners still willing to deliver themselves from their affected alligator-mask cynicism. This piece was generated for the Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival 2005, but I didn’t find anything that could be defined as “contemporary” in this amass of engrossing oneiric pictures that follow one another without interruptions. Schaefer used “Magnus chord organ, location recordings, piano, clarinet, vinyl and Town Hall organ” to proclaim, once and for all, that he is the person to call when one wants to revisit memories from the past mixing heartache and sad smiles. Divided into four movements, the composition possesses several moments of astonishing beauty typical of their composer, treated sounds and hesitant pacing letting us reel in a multiform discontinuity patching our sorrow with the most enchanting childhood discoveries. A consumed record emits a crackled old song to which Schaefer seams organ chords and road noises; loops not so distant from Basinski-esque melancholies leave room to minimalist clarinet figurations. It all sounds unpronounced, moistened by silent tears marking the unstoppable passage of that time that we consider as “precious” only when we realize that it’s gone.
JANEK SCHAEFER – Recital in the old library (AudiOh!)
Released in MP3 format, available on the AudiOh! website exclusively for download, “Recital in the old library” is the recording of a 2007 performance at the Sound:Space symposium at South Hill Park, Bracknell. Schaefer was particularly inspired that night, due to the presence of “several members of my family, friends and neighbours there to hear and see what it is that I do when I leave the house”. The effort, although starting with spoken texts by T.S.Eliot (courtesy of Schaefer’s own record library), is a classic collection of sonic reminiscences, deployed and seamed with masterful skill by the composer, who used both extracts from previous recordings and sounds derived from his experiments with modified turntables, effects and minidiscs, all going into a Mackie mixer. An artistic summary of sorts, “Recital” stands nevertheless as a pretty impressive piece of work itself, cramming many of the most fascinating aspects of Schaefer’s vision within a timeframe of less than one hour. The “here and now” factor is often questioned in favour of warped recollections of a past so distant that even memory fails in tracing its coordinates. Still, there’s a lingering sense of almost childish, mournful perception of an existence that continuously mutates and, ideally, evolves (it probably degenerates instead, but that’s another story), yet seems to leave no more useful reasons for people to relish their solitary excursions through self-discovery. A satisfying release, just slightly below the composer’s very best outings.
JANEK SCHAEFER – Alone at last (Sirr)
Ever since the man’s music was heard for the first time in these quarters, Janek Schaefer was reputed as one of the most capable collectors of gathered memories, touching the right nerves in that practice of recall that somehow manages to methodically plant uncertainties in the mechanics of human improvement. “Alone at last”, which comes in a completely black jewel case – no artwork, no notes, totally unrecognizable if you don’t open it – is “a collection of commissioned compositions” recorded between 1997 and 2007. It’s quintessential Schaefer, with the addition of field recordings to his usual array of nostalgia-inducing vinyl artifacts, whose revolving seems to approximate the existential routine of cycles that, in the end, are exactly the same. Rich and poor, intelligent and stupid, thin-skinned and detached: perhaps the secret of life lies in accepting, once and for all, that we have to coexist with different levels of growth. Schaefer’s vision portrays the sudden change and the deluded hope with responsive concurrences of aural chimeras, finding the maximum level of accomplishment in pieces such as “A day in the good life” and the truly breathtaking “All bombing is terrorism”, lethargic gloom enhanced by looping materials and impalpable harmonic auras. As fine an introduction as any of this artist’s albums to start immersing the essence of your persona in a flux of destabilizing, yet wondrous looks at the past – and, who knows, maybe also at a not so radiant future.
HELMUT SCHAEFER – Isolated irritation (Post-Concrete)
As powerful as you can get, this recording could be dangerous for your house’s glass objects if played at good level. Helmut Schäfer does not specify the sources of his soundscape; you’re left alone with a growing mass of lava spreading all around, grinding and growling, halfway through an electric mantra and the multiplication of rumbling thundering explosions. Some of the sections are completely overdriven into a saturation point that has my woofers literally screaming, even at not-so-high volume. But the magic in this work springs right there: I can detect patterns and pulses in the middle of the apparent chaos, giving the whole mass an articulated life of its own. A fantastic burst of energy, “Isolated irritation” is a lesson in how to use noise and transform it in serious experimental music – Merzbow and the likes could learn something here.
IGNAZ SCHICK / DAWID SZCZESNY – The view underneath (Nonvisualobjects)
Coming from different backgrounds, which include hip-hop, noise and acousmatics, Ignaz Schick and Dawid Szczesny look perfectly at ease in the realms of sound art typical of this great label. The instrumentation comprises turntables, sine waves and laptop as the only sources, yet the final product is quite organic and, in many occasions, deeply evocative. All the tracks present intriguing mixtures of magnetism and feverishness, carefully juxtaposing the physical values of percussive sonorities and the cyclical reiterations of looping segments with the evident spacing-out of the “ethereally concrete” emissions of which the large part of this music’s body is made. Really following no one’s footprints, Schick and Szczesny find methods to depict melting imagery in hybrid successions where a way out is not an option. This doesn’t mean that oppression is included in the recipe: on the contrary, the contamination factor is also the cause of several openings in terms of minute particulars, as tiny structural fragments and tenuous rays of light coalesce at times into some sort of bionic “groove”. Rubbing intersections of uncertain nature and semi-harmonic resonances live together pretty peacefully, the overall feel one of conscious detachment from the necessity of cutting too deep in favour of the sheer observation of an unfolding process, to which each listener responds according to their own capacities. The whole sounds indeed finely crafted and rewarding on various levels of artistic consequence.
WOLFGANG SCHLIEMANN / MICHAEL VORFELD – Alle Neune: Rheinländer Partie (Creative Sources)
It takes a solid effort these days to raise attention with a record where “percussion, found objects and stringed instruments” are “hit, bowed, scratched, thrown and plugged”. Vorfeld is a master at this game and there’s no doubt about his sincerity, while I don’t remember having had the pleasure of meeting Schliemann’s expression before. Whatever; the first advice that must be thrown is “let the amplifier gain its salary”, as the overall level of the album is strangely tending to low (probably to avoid distortion, given the complexity of the harmonics involved and the potentially destroying peaks?). The music is exactly as described: precarious structures and semi-destructive traumas are made acceptable by otherworldly resonances, bumps and feedback-alimented drones. Not that the latter imply some sort of regularity, mind you: the occasional static segment is often immediately incinerated by overactive cymbal-ism and thudding indetermination. Yet, not once the improvisations get stray or trespass the limits of a tolerable freedom (how many people feed us garbage in name of that concept?). It’s a pretty interesting document of raw percussive maturity: the artists know what they are doing, and it shows. Not really a masterpiece, but it does contain a few memorable spots for tickling neighbours’ nerves. On the contrary, if played as an “ambient background presence” it’s going to be quite annoying. Pump up the volume, and the dynamics at work will be revealed.
SCHLIPPENBACH TRIO – Winterreise (Psi)
The only risk with the Schlippenbach Trio is an excess of non-expectation, meaning that Evan Parker, Paul Lovens and Alexander von Schlippenbach have grown us used to such a wealth of excellent, meritorious music that even a beauty like “Winterreise” could sound as a normal album to our ears, while instead it’s a treasure trove of matchless, self-consistent improvisations fueled by lucid visions and peerless marginalizations of the been-there-done-that flavour of rugous jazz. Recorded in Cologne in 2004 and 2005, the two tracks are an instant movie about the fecundity of ideas, with the leader’s piano assuming a paradigmatic role as far as inventive geometry and harmonic liberation are concerned, with a tip of the hat to Cecil Taylor for good measure. Side to side with such a nerve-straining artistic integrity, Parker and Lovens tread paths to a grudging magnificence without losing focus for half a minute, the musicians’ chemistry always explosive at the right moment but still coloured with a unique impassibility in front of the sonic events, which they conduct, manipulate and bend to their will without letting the audience know that they’re witnessing a homicide of the conventional jazz trio: check the cryptic beginning of the second set and judge for yourselves. Too bad that the record ends quite abruptly, but one can’t have everything. Great artists, great playing.
MARCUS SCHMICKLER – Altars of science (Editions Mego)
I am always skeptical about contemporary jacks-of-all-trades, yet there is no question that Marcus Schmickler is usually serious enough in what he does and, whenever the inspiration or the right influence calls, he’s able to produce sonic materials that are worth a good attentive listen. Still, “Altars of science” is unlikely to be loved by your partner, being a computer-based composition in eight movements that sounds, well, ruthless for its large part. Working on the juxtaposition of different kinds of waves, distortion, silent intermissions and scarcely recognizable sources – even though I’d be willing to bet that human voice is there, camouflaged somewhere – Schmickler unloads a non-stop bombardment of violent discharges, threatening ellipses and howling discrepancies, reminiscent both of the pioneers of the genre and a self-destructive electronic pinball machine. It takes a while before our pleasure-seeking will accepts what’s offered, and despite reiterated tries there’s no chance to grant the piece a “nice” attribute. It’s instead an uncompromising ode to causticity that has to be valued as an interesting experiment, and it should be approached as such. But if one’s on the nervous edge of their current life, better stand clear off this stuff. The double-sided disc contains a stereo mix on the CD side, and a multi-channel version on the DVD side. More work for lawyers if played at high volume.
MARCUS SCHMICKLER with HAYDEN CHISHOLM – Amazing daze (Häpna)
Consisting of two long hypnotic segments – the first dedicated to Phill Niblock, the second to Bjork – “Amazing daze” is a very good album despite these declarations of love. It would have been easy falling in the traps of obviousness, putting out music that obtains the only result of having the listeners longing for the original; but Schmickler is not the last in the queue of compositional good taste, and New Zealander Chisholm – a saxophone player active in jazz and contemporary music who’s worked with Rebecca Horn among others – provides effective tones that Schmickler manipulates on computer and electronics to generate superimposed strata of held tones that work well at different volume level. The title track is the most powerful one, being based on a corpulent bagpipe timbre that first acts as a sort of tranquilizing affirmation, then gets slightly altered to move the sound waves according to the classic Niblockian search for frequency beating. Despite the absence of the New Yorker’s highly emotional and physical impact, the piece owns a distinct character that allows the music not to overstay its welcome. “Infinity in the shape of a poodle” is a subtle, yet deeply penetrating high frequency-based composition where Chisholm plays the Japanese sho, whose timbral semblance characterize splendid soaring glissandos that render the air quite rarefied halfway through the piece, the whole sounding like a decaying organ causing – at least in this writer – serious goosebumps. It’s this very moment that I like best, aural clouds shifting and morphing incessantly, opening new directions in modern minimalism that Schmickler would do well to keep pursuing.
ARNOLD SCHOENBERG – Early and unknown string works (OgreOgress)
In keeping with OgreOgress’ recent production, this excellent release comes as an audio DVD, whose contents are performed by the Rangzen Quartet & Strings and Christina Fong with the usual high technical standards that this enterprising label has grown us accustomed to. The pieces contained here will be surprising for those who instinctively associate the name of Schoenberg to his harmonic revolution or “Sprechstimme”; the reason is quite evident, since this collection begins with material that was written by the composer in his childhood, and which is pregnant of Romantic and folk influences (“Sunshine Polka”, “Alliance Waltz”). But when we shift our attention to the subsequent late tracks – including a lot of splendid unfinished fragments of string music that leave us almost depressed for the impossibility of knowing what could have happened had they been completed – we observe that the shirt of tonality was ever so tight for Schoenberg, as even in apparently “regular” passages one can detect bass lines that move along unusual paths or cadenzas that do not necessarily resolve according to what the Western ears would appreciate best at that time (or today, for that matter). Of course Schoenberg’s syntax contains the necessary germs for the destruction of the tonal system but, as everyone who studied his “Harmonielehre” knows well, at the same time that very system is given the utmost respect. The players’ sensitive approach applies a patina of melancholy to the whole, meaning that – besides its obvious historical weight – we’re in presence of an extremely evocative and rewarding record that could very well be appreciated by “traditional” lovers of classical music but, above all, will be savoured by those of us who think that many icons from the past are highly overrated, only because some sort of establishment decided that they were the big thing. Let me be perfectly clear here: there’s more intelligence and soul in these Schoenberg scribblings than in half of Mozart’s output.
GUNTER SCHROTH – Barcode music (Archegon)
Picture a deformed cross-pollination including the hardest computer music, sci-fi movie soundtracks, the first Synclavier experiments by Frank Zappa (circa “The perfect stranger”) and some digital snapshots of kitchen sounds and electric circuits fusing together; then you’ll have a faint idea of how “Barcode music” sounds like. Günter Schroth used an optic pen to read several lots of barcodes from different objects, transmitting these data to his system of computer and effects and controlling them on his own terms: the achieved results are for the most part very interesting as new synthetic permutations and lots of variable spectral refractions fill the air, cold as ice one moment, funny like an extremist cartoon the next; Franziska Quandt and Claus Van Bebber help with voice and vinyl in two of the tracks. Schroth doesn’t give a damn about alluring the listener and this is a definite plus in his thoroughly demanding sonic output.
MATTHIAS SCHUBERT QUARTET – Trappola (Red Toucan)
This quartet consists of Matthias Schubert on tenor saxophone, Tom Rainey on drums, Carl Ludwig Hübsch on tuba and Claudio Puntin on clarinet. “Trappola” is a record that mixes, elaborates and reinvents elements from the past while keeping an inquisitive eye on the present. It features a collection of excellent tracks – including a Jerry Roll Morton cover – that make good use of the technical skills of the involved musicians but nevertheless sounds captivating and fresh to the ears. The lineup disfigures the traditional roles of a jazz quartet, in that a properly delineated “rhythm section” is nowhere to be found; the players like to exchange figurations, ruminations and harmonic heaps without flinching, lip-reading their reciprocal “regular” parts to create something that at one and the same time sounds unheard before and traditionally rooted. Trying to nail comparisons in this tasty morsel soon becomes a sterile practice of “what does it remind you of” useless exercises: linking destructured ragtime, quasi-experimental Dixieland and Kurt Weill-meets-Eric Dolphy semi-dissonant (but totally digestible) counterpoints is not an easy task, yet these artists pass the test with flying colours. We’re hooked by entangling crosses of erratic trajectories, but also suddenly incinerated by improbable darts of clarinet-cum-tuba peripherical aggregations which, in their difficulty, wink to a kind of advanced chamber music. A “marching band spirit” is perennially lurking behind, even if poisoned by copious doses of tangential simultaneousness generating synchronized conflicts and unpredictable jams a go-go. All in all, “Trappola” is just another example of album that might not have you shouting at some sort of miracle, but works perfectly in each of its single components and yields large quantities of aural gratification, especially for lovers of tightly arranged, neatly executed music.
MICHAEL J. SCHUMACHER – Room pieces (XI)
This double CD set is perfectly in line with Michael J.Schumacher’s unique way of treating sounds and their relationships with the reproduction space; matter of factly, it’s full of silences and barely perceptible shades of acoustic/electronic splinters (particularly in the long “Room piece XI” and the beautiful “Still”, where Charles Curtis’ bowed strings caress the nerves without even making their presence concretely felt). Being involved in sound installation, Schumacher conceives music that gets its best results when played through multiple speakers or, at least, in a room where the natural acoustics can contribute to different kinds of diffusion. At first, we’re puzzled while trying to raise the ears waiting for something to happen; as time goes by, very much has happened but we just had a glimpse of what it was. The perfect closing is another “Still”, a wonderful droning superimposition of contrasting sine tones in a crescendo that maybe represents the only moment in which the listener is completely surrounded – and helpless. Following a unique path, Schumacher has slowly built a style of his own.
MICHAEL J. SCHUMACHER / STEPHEN VITIELLO – Untitled / Exchange (A Question Of Re-entry)
“Untitled” begins with a rainy urban atmosphere underlined by outbursts of distant activity and a continuous rumble, halfway through a power generator and the blowing wind. Cyclical creaking of doors that open and close, cars, undefinable thud-and-clatter are heard both in proximity and far away. Some of these sounds are captured in loops until a hypnotic electronic background appears, engulfing the large part of these metropolitan presences; but the intrinsic musicality of the basic material is soon highlighted again, as gentle taps, light drops, engines and the ever-present nocturnal breath lead the listener through a mixture of relaxed concentration and detail-enhanced curiosity. It sounds like if a contact microphone had been stuck in the heart of the city, which is kept beating more regularly by self-made apparata that buzz and hum. Something curiously near to the whirr of a dentist’s drill appears towards the end of the piece, before the final fade to black after the very last repetitions of whips and snaps. “Exchange” is started by an electronic drone slightly disturbed by purrs and synthetic waves. These irregularities soon take command over the initial dullness, which anyhow remains lingering in the background. Overacute frequencies and hyper-accelerated sequences (sounding like fast-forwarding tapes, but who knows…) introduce the listener to a different dimension, in which uncontrolled emissions, water, feedback derivations and resonant guitar strings constitute the soundtrack to an immobile balance of concrete appearances that nevertheless make the whole ethereal enough for lovers of trance-and-drone artifacts. Yet the “harmonic obstacles” keep popping up in the mix, rendering the piece even more interesting and full of unexpected surprises, especially on the waveform front. In the final minutes, everything seems to accomodate to a basic tranquillity but it’s just an illusion, as the last noisy lashes cross the stereo field at different moments until the end. Impregnable, yet totally beautiful sound art by two masters of the genre.
SCHURER > STEINBRÜCHEL – (Nonvisualobjects)
“Exquisite corpse” is a surrealist technique according to which words, pictures or sounds are put in a sequence where contributors are only able to see the final part of what was made before they add their own piece of work. Based on this concept, Schurer and Steinbrüchel created an eight-channel surround soundtrack for an installation at the Kunsthaus in Zurich, meant to be played in parallel to a four-channel video by Yves Netzhammer. The CD contains a compressed and more “composed” version of that sonic environment, the original context somehow miniaturized with optimal results. This is a pretty classic example of stimulating ambient music, brittle luminescences and muted crystals of tranquillity keeping good company to your strained nerves for long segments. The whole is not deprived of contrasts: we’re regularly shaken, a little bit, by sudden electronic discharges and irregular schizophrenic shapes similar to bolts illuminating a menacing grey sky. At a first listen, the surprise factor yields perplexity, but on repeated tries these variations on the usual canons of “just present” frequencies become a fundamental element of the composition, acting like indicators for the subsequent flows of sonic data, which lay upon a bed of silence to morph slowly and bend gradually until the next interruption. Particularly beautiful is the seventh section, a melange of “minimal” humming and under-skin sequences slightly deformed by “apparitions” that last for a few instants but manage to give a wailing voice to some kind of virtual soul hidden somewhere in the darkness. Conditio sine qua non: moderate volume in “repeat” playing mode, better in the very early morning or during silent sunsets.
SCHWIMMER – 7x4x7 (Creative Sources)
If you’re tired of the plastic surgeries of today’s idea of freedom, it could be a good idea listening to this quartet, formed by Michael Thieke (clarinets) Alessandro Bosetti (sax) Sabine Vogel (flutes) and Michael Griener (drums). Theirs is the sound of alienated volatile creatures in an enormous metal cage, looking for the door to a just imaginary escape. Since the very beginning, the musicians apply a cold stare to introspective dialectics, rubbing, blowing and tongue-popping their instruments’ cavities until air is projected in a multitude of shapes and – sometimes – in almost painful icicles for the ear. Struck by the group’s engaging attitude, I can’t help but looking for imaginative comparisons, actually to no avail. The whole sound organization is remarkable; minuscule fragments and more violent emissions weight the same, accumulating anxiety and tension that don’t ask for help. Self constraint can yield more power than you could guess, if it’s channelled into the right conduits.
DOMENICO SCIAJNO / KIM CASCONE – A book of standard equinoxes [(1.8)sec]
A live recording from 2004, this complex improvisation by Sciajno and Cascone is a very well executed aural artifact where an excellent balance between organicism and coldness is reached without any compromise. It’s an involving soundscape in which every proposed timbral shade seems to have a life of its own, as the piece moves through various phases where the matter becomes an ebullient liquid with microscopic mechanical fishes resisting to an otherwise unbearable temperature through a continuous modification of their morphology and capabilities. Although these artists do not certainly suffer from lack of sources in their digital armaments, they manage to avoid laptop obesity by a very sharp choice of colour, time succession and personality of the single electroacoustic event, depicting an extremely active – but very relaxing nevertheless – scenario that sounds fresh and gifted with a unique receptiveness.
DOMENICO SCIAJNO & RALF WEHOWSKY – Gelbe Tupfen (Bowindo)
The principal origin of this record is Wehowsky’s daughter Sonja’s voice, but her rendition of the Christmas song “Kinderlein Kommet” is not really audible in the final result, if not during almost undecipherable appearances. As a matter of fact, “Gelbe Tupfen” comprises two long compositions that walk long-legged towards the most enticing areas of computer-assisted music, the ones where sounds are stripped of every known attribute yet keep – and possibly increase – their intrinsic evocative power, furnishing us with disparate elements to put in reciprocal connection. Sciajno’s “i.Dk.Sk.” is an inscrutable suite in four movements and a coda, one of those enigmatic investigations of the most hidden properties of sound in which the information arriving to the ears lasts only the necessary time to leave a permanent impression in the solitude of that circumscribed temporal fraction. The piece was created with MAX/MSP, yet the feel is one of “biotic mystery”, with a sapient definition of the time/space correlations that set the potentiometers of receptivity at their maximum level. Wehowsky’s “Mneme Gelb” uses fragments of the Sciajno track, recordings of himself at work in his studio and re/deconstructions of little Sonja’s interpretation, but only for short moments. Its character oscillates between spacey darkness and gentle irony, with a modicum of quirkiness that adds even more subtleties to an already delightful gathering of strange phosphorescences.
DOMENICO SCIAJNO + LAWRENCE ENGLISH – Merola shoulders (Phono-Statique)
No wider gap exists than the one separating the work of this duo and the music by the late Mario Merola, defined an “iconic Italian singer” on the press sheet but, in truth, one of those sub-cultural phenomena that only a socially underdeveloped, brain-deprived area like Italy can give birth to, a rags-to-riches career built upon ancient popular songs that are an insult to intelligence, trash movies (you’ve got to see them to believe) and dubious acquaintances. It is all the more ironic that his name was chosen for this gorgeous album, whose basic tracks were recorded in Palermo in 2005 while Merola was performing in a nearby square. The four movements follow an inflexible logic, originated by a poetic of field recordings disguised in abundant quantities of micro sounds, morphing ambiences, throbbing low frequencies – the latter ones very impressively rendered – and “presences” that almost take the listener by surprise, such is the scientific expertise with which Sciajno and English placed these voices and urban noises in the mix. Events happen for a reason, yet it’s impossible to predict the exact moment in which they do; quite often we have the impression of having someone talking at our back in between the development of the electronic plot. The dynamics of the piece seem to draw an arc of sorts: discreetly agitated with sparse moments of peace in the first half, then a shift to calmer regions in the second, mostly characterized by liquid entities and ear-piercing shrills letting us remember that laptops are the main motors of this engrossing soundscape. Still, I’ll be damned if this reminds of a typical “laptop release”; no, should I define “Merola shoulders” with a single adjective, I’d say that it just sounds “natural”. And beautiful, too.
SEHT & STELZER – Exactly what you lost (Intransitive)
Being welcomed by about two minutes of unmanageable “tape noise” doesn’t let us foresee the true compound and the core spirit which this album by Stephen Clover (aka Seht) and Howard Stelzer, a New Zealand vs US collaboration that materialized via long-distance tape exchange, is made of. What is that “spirit”, you might ask; the answer is not immediate, as “Exactly what you lost” is one of those “more than meets the ears” specimens where, behind the walls of viscous fuzz, growling lows and locked loops, something deeply evocative catches a spot of the brain deciding to stay there permanently. The ruined recordings that Seht and Stelzer subjected to their repeated processes of harmonic decay sound like if containing secret bulletins from various kinds of immaterial quantities; one detects muted children songs and choked choirs amidst shortwave eruptions and oxyde degradations, but then again it could just be a fruit of our imagination. Natural environmental sounds – a whistling blackbird being the most recognizable one – were also added to this thick mud of spellbinding frequencies, yet we still can’t envision a garden of Eden. The oppressive crunching roar of the long suite that ends the CD overwhelms any residual hope, melting every resistance in a cauldron of tormented ecstasy.
7K OAKS – 7000 Oaks (Die Schachtel)
In the summer of 2007, after many months of intense correspondence and plans to subvert the order of things all over the world, Lee Cho and Pi Too decided to secretly meet in a remote place of central Italy. Oops, sorry – wrong tape. Rewind.
7k Oaks is a project born from a pre-planned Italian visit by Alfred Harth, who – accompanied by the indefatigable, clever-minded Mathias Schüler – made a long trip through Europe that year driving a BMW station wagon. In between the architectural beauties and the interminable highways there was some work to do, along the lines of “taking photographs, eating well, giving a poor man the chance to get a laptop and, at last, playing”. Five Italians were waiting for Mr. 23 and his sax and clarinet in a torrid August: an odd couple with about 18 cats as sons – featuring Microbo The Immortal among them – and three excellent musicians. Massimo Pupillo aka Zu, bass deconstructionist of ascertained fame who had already played with AH before, brought in Fabrizio Spera and Luca Venitucci who, besides being two nice instrumentalist specimens (drums, keyboards, accordion and various kinds of electronic and concrete manipulation) and having collaborated with people such as John Butcher, John Edwards, Blast, Tim Hodgkinson, Zeitkratzer and many others, are the organizational stalwarts thanks to which Roman audiences are today able to see and hear the world’s most advanced improvisers, from Jack Wright to Cremaster, not to mention the plethora of important names they invited in the past. Recorded in a single afternoon at the Diapason studio in Rome (defined “vintage style” by the uncontrollable Seoul Man), “7000 Oaks” is a CD whose main character lies in the incredible balance achieved by its frequently raucous voices, often heavily modified – as an example, Pupillo’s bass sounds at times more like an overdriven guitar (hear him squealing and sneering in “Foxp2”, a spectacular free-for-all punch-out peculiarly ending in quasi-tranquillity that just can’t leave indifferent, the players seemingly bitten by an army of pyromaniac tarantulas). No prominence whatsoever, a true collective effort that showcases the brilliance, maturity and raging abilities of seasoned creative artists, with the addition of electronics. The album’s nucleus is the 20-minute “Strategy of tension”, an initially restrained improvisation where sounds creep in little by little, an incipient tumour in an apparently healthy person. When after a while the music decides to abandon its cocoon, the contrast between the filtered curiosity of Harth’s sucking contortions and the destabilizing hue and cry of Venitucci’s wheezing machine introduces a final crescendo where, in spurts, Pupillo and Spera create a rusty structure to something that essentially has never taken a definite shape. “Pi Too” (here we go again) begins with Harth’s garrulous sax paralleled by Venitucci’s Tippett-like piano, then the iron pumped up by Pupillo and Spera raises the intensity muscle to dangerous levels in two minutes, only to shift to “full-fury” gear in the conclusive segment. Great piece, the best with “Foxp2” (a pattern, anyone?). Also exciting is the sinister bass riff at the beginning of “The invisible tower”, upon which the drummer applies a groove à la Pierre Van Der Linden before the alien melody makers return to the centre of the ring exchanging accordion left hooks and tenor uppercuts, while the rhythm section – does this definition make any sense? – observes sardonically how blood gets spilled everywhere, continuing the game with skeletal reflections on the verge of feedback and hum. Finalizing the deal, let me say that this album offers more than I could reasonably expect. It sounds hot – and not because of the high temperature of the day in which it was created – growing (and grooving) with each new listen.
SFQ – Four compositions (Red Toucan)
Simon H. Fell is very well known for his improvising talents on double bass; this release showcases his more “regulated” kind of compositions, where all the participants’ skills contribute to achieve the difficult aim of a “moderately free” chamber sound that is neither sterile nor academic. “Three quintets” features Alex Ward (clarinet) Gail Brand (trombone) Alex Maguire (piano) and Steve Noble (drums) and it’s a kind of a study in dynamics and contemporary swing (…) where the equiponderance of the instrumental tasks is fundamental in guaranteeing a purposeful determination in tackling all that passes between silence and full-speed blowouts. Ward’s clarinet also graces the second CD in “Liverpool quartet” together with Guy Llewellyn on French horn and Mark Sanders on drums and electronics. The stylistic coherence remains, while the timbral research is even more tireless; contrarily to certain free-for-all stampedes currently defined as “new music”, the fluttering subsistence of schematic paths leaves all spaces to a relaxed animation of various triangulations of rational elegance.
ELLIOTT SHARP – The velocity of hue (Emanem)
Music made with brain, heart, sweat and saliva. Never wasting a note, always in full control, Elliott Sharp stamps his supremacy with an “avant-blues” masterpiece where intelligence, audacity and fingerstretching know no boundaries. The New Yorker’s highly individual style is a total pleasure even for a newcomer; his work on the fingerboard maintains a repetitive, almost ritual form resulting both accessible and extremely logical in his utter abandon of any six-stringed formula. Elliott’s nimble lines fit nicely in many contexts, surprising listeners in more than one occasion while avoiding most of nearsighted guitarists’ many and one cliché. I knew in my heart there was a reason why I was excited about this record; sure enough, I was not denied and now I’m convinced “The velocity of hue” is one of the overall best Emanem releases; still, Elliott Sharp never ceases amazing me with his genius.
ELLIOTT SHARP – Dispersion of seeds (Zoar)
It’s not the first time that Elliott Sharp analyzes the possibilities contained in the most advanced sonic literature for strings; his past collaborations with Dave Soldier’s String Quartet are well documented in albums like Cryptid Fragments or Hammer, Anvil, Stirrup, which constitute the perfect introduction to the matter for those who are curious enough. This time, Sharp is helped by another illustrious ensemble, Sirius (remember them in Nick Didkovsky’s Doctor Nerve’s Ereia?); Dispersion of Seeds comprises three movements lasting 16 minutes each, the first being completely acoustic and the remaining two slightly remodeled and modified by an adequate computer treatment by the composer. The title refers to a “recently-discovered natural history work from 1862 by Henry David Thoreau dealing with the mechanism of reforestation and the propagation of plant tree species, a ripe metaphor for the possibility of positive memes thriving and spreading in a time of crass stupidity, fear and militarism”. Sharp’s music is as always creatively dissonant, long waves of oscillating tones carving a preoccupied counterpoint in the haze of illusion, the false easiness of a consonant existence sapiently dismantled by spellbinding trips towards the periphery of reason. A discreet but efficient computer work transforms an already ill-tempered creature in a flanging aural ghost of harmonic development, as Sirius’ undulations roam through our chakras trying to restart those processes that our entangled nerves are not able to perform anymore. One of the most used cliches by many reviewers is that “this music rewards repeated listenings”; for just once, I’m glad to join the queue in this commonplace.
ELLIOTT SHARP – Octal: Book One (Clean Feed)
Always at the forefront of guitar experimentation, perennially interested in discovering the varying gradations of resonance and in unusual orchestrations at large, Elliott Sharp is the prototype of the forward-looking artist with feet remaining well-planted in his predecessors’ soil of achievement. His love of the blues equals the passion for mathematic formulas applied to a musical design and, in “Octal”, all of the above reaches the boiling point through eight exceptional tracks performed on a 8-string Koll electro-acoustic whose technical features are painstakingly described by E#, together with the approach to the recording, in liner notes that alone are worth of owning the album. So much for those “slap a microphone in front of the soundhole and strum your ass off” nonentities who keep plaguing the guitar world. The reference felt as nearest in this instance is “Quadrature” – one of Sharp’s veritable milestones – although the tuning in this first “book” is more or less standard (EADGBE with the additional bass strings tuned to low E and B; Sharp promises to analyze different tunings in future editions). The resplendent timbre of the Koll, in cooperation with the performer’s ability in the execution of pieces that are basically notated yet open to interpretation and improvisation, allows the music to assume shapes and reverberations rarely heard in a solo setting. Percussive factors, droning halos – also courtesy of a sapient eBow usage – and unpredictable combinations of harmonics are all part of the recipe, the sonic matter benefiting from the mixture of thoughtful restraint and multidirectional ears that the adoptive New Yorker demonstrates throughout, “tribally minimalist” arpeggio flurries sealing the whole. A classic case of “enough with words, where’s my VISA?”.
ELLIOTT SHARP’S TERRAPLANE – Do the don’t (Gaff)
I can’t stand opening “Guitar Player” – yes, I still do – and reading about stuff like Eric Clapton’s “Me and Mr.Johnson” described as a “blues” record. Pardon me? Then, something like this CD comes by the house and its substantial truthfulness saves the week. Elliott Sharp has always represented THE artist on the opposite side of what is mercenary; all of his countless projects discard obvious expletives in favour of a thorough groundwork, being imbued of ragged prestige and rejuvenating rage which never abandon him, whatever the chosen field. “Do the don’t” interrogates the listener with some tough questions, then eases back with generous doses of unpolished benevolence; Sharp’s fretwork is determined and pungent as usual and – should this be not enough – great Hubert Sumlin helps in the kitchen in three tracks. The late Sam Furnace places quite a few landmark twists throughout the record, often abandoning his own body to launch a left-handed celestial counterpunch through his huge essence. On acoustic and electric bass, David Hofstra is elegantly physical, planning straining courses to fervour while attending ceremonial duties with loosened rationale; the rhythmical counterpart, Sim Cain, camouflages his excellent technique through the fabrication of attractive patterns and even-paced jargons. There are three pretty attractive songs, too – “Lost souls” being the wailing best – sung by Eric Mingus and Dean Bowman. Charming and heartfelt, this is a great album that must be played loud and often, without any indulgence for your neighbours.
ELLIOTT SHARP & REINHOLD FRIEDL – Feuchtify (Emanem)
Thirteen improvisations, recorded at New York’s Tonic in 2001, show the level of affinity that Sharp (soprano sax, dobro, electric fretless guitar, 8-string guitarbass, computer) and Friedl (inside and prepared piano) have reached in almost ten years of reciprocal knowledge and fruitful collaboration. The music of “Feuchtify” seems to harbour evil thoughts one moment and to release uncontrollable urges the next. It never sounds submissive, finding its motivation in radical challenges between rip-roaring, computer-treated sax lines, percussive bounces and metallic clangours. Amidst these insubordinations, the “regular” piano and guitar notes dwindle away, surrounded by surprising constellations of popping strings and imaginative deconstructions and deforestations. We feel just like a pickup, assimilating these irregular transmissions while pretending to be able to decode them; indeed we know it’s impossible, as sound speaks in languages that human brain can only associate to something else. Hungry for words, we could even blather of “industrial Delta blues”, “pregnant explosiveness”, “dissonant tranquillity”, “rambunctious chattering”. What’s really to be noted is the sense of absolute sturdiness of these mechanisms, which seem to have been immersed in a multipurpose liquid substance that renders each of its parts undestroyable. But a careful analysis demonstrates that this substance is the musicians’ very essence – which, in the case of Sharp and Friedl, is unquestionably rich. A splendid effort, worthy of repeated spins.
ELLIOTT SHARP & CHARLOTTE HUG – Pi:k (Emanem)
This nice pair met for the first time in Sharp’s SyndaKit Orchestra, the American funnily describing Hug as a “blonde explosion of sound and energy”. They subsequently started playing duo concerts, an interaction made easier by the well-visible evidence of their creative brightness and the myriads of different facets that the respective expressions possess. “Pi:k” presents fourteen tracks for guitar and viola, eight of them – completely acoustic – recorded in 2004 at Sharp’s studio in New York, while the remaining six were captured live in 2005 at Geneve’s Cave 12 and make good use of electronic treatments. It would be easy, once again, hiding behind E#’s description of the music as “pixillated, angular, tangential” to escape with a fitting definition, but these visionaries have additional aces in the sleeves. When inexpert improvisers play without restrictions, it’s not unlikely to end in the realm of nonsensical horticulture (the fruits of a suddenly liberated “creativity” can taste really bad, you know). No such a problem in this case – one instantly realizes that Sharp and Hug are the sole owners of their instant ideas, the guitarist swirling, popping and tapping all over the instrument’s body to bring out contorted lines, chordal refractions and disobedient harmonics, gorgeously complemented by a viola that growls, sings, swears, hisses and lulls in the space of seconds. The electronics add a multi-dimensional variety of shapes and shades, generating soundscapes that travel across the borders of computer music to morph into ghostly undulations and reiterated complex dissonances. More than a contamination between two “styles”, the players stick to a jargon that leaves almost no room for thought, its volatile harmonic context acting as the optimal springboard for the attention to roam, thus becoming able to catch brilliance even in the most inaccessible crannies.
ELLIOTT SHARP / SCOTT FIELDS – Scharfefelder (Clean Feed)
Listen to Scott Fields’ opinion: “(…) collaborations between bald guitarists are, by their nature, irresistibly charming (…)”. Not a truer word. And the hairless virtuosity we’re given handfuls of in “Scharfefelder” is enough to make me stop thinking about those hyperglycemic crises I experienced decades ago, when the depleted puppy who’s writing these words thought of “Friday Night in San Francisco” as a good starting place to take the instrument a little more seriously. As Goofy would have it, gawrsh. This acoustic duet, recorded at Sharp’s zOaR studio halfway through August 2007, shows that one can still play full chords and let them resonate without being ashamed; and if those shapes proliferate until becoming three or four hundreds – and even badly dissonant, for Christ’s sake – strange halos of peculiar harmonics might invade your terrain and persuade you that flamenco is born again, in a bionic variety (“Doubleviz”) excluding predetermined progressions. Need slanted lines? There are things here which could convince that Sharp and Fields’ fingers are somehow disjointed (“Freefall”); they catch the exact spot where resonant note and wood-ish thud meet, transforming their artistic personae in human bradawls smiling at the listener while punching holes in the residual convictions about that erstwhile tool for serenades and beach hooking. If Ralph Towner and John Abercrombie ever get to hear this, they might be willing to drown in the Sargasso Sea (just kidding, huh? I like some of that stuff, too). Shaven craniums reflecting the open-mouthed admiration of a fellow instrumentalist still willing to learn, impartiality be damned. Not an easy record, in any case: give it the fullest attention and don’t try to use it as background, either you’re a guitarist or not.
SHELF LIFE – Ductworks (Public Eyesore)
One of the most unclassifiable albums met recently is this collection of introverted improvisations by Shelf Life, the quartet of Bryan Day, Alex Boardman, Joseph Jaros and Jay Schleidt. They don’t list instruments on the cover, and that’s only the starting point; the thirteen tracks are all named with an anagram of the CD title, and we can survive that. Then this poor reviewer slipped the disc in and pressed “play”, and there’s not a similarity, a distantly associable genre or even a single clue about what this music sounds like. Mostly based on electric guitar tampering, for sure, yet also comprising an awful lot of different emissions tending to the low-key scrape, buzz, groan and fuzz, this material is truly excellent in its total closure towards stylistic and harmonic (?) compromise. The uncorrupted freedom of expression supported by these guys does not yell or scream, but creeps all over the place in a fascinating manner, all those digestible disturbances accepted as a welcome presence whatever the occasion (I even tried it amidst the kitchen’s noises while my wife and I were preparing for dinner, and it went great – she loved it, and me too). This record could be a nice answer to wallpaper ambient, as it certainly results lively and intelligent to these ears. Another fine example of the utter unpredictability of Public Eyesore’s intentions.
SHELF LIFE – Rheuma (Eh?)
As it happened for another of their releases reviewed here (“Ductworks”) I am at a loss for words when it comes to Shelf Life (in this disc Bryan Day, Alex Boardman, Joseph Jaros, Andrew Perdue) . After listening to the 70 minutes of “Rheuma” there’s no reasonable way to illustrate what kind of music this is. Is it serious, doctor? Can you see the real me, doctor? Ok – before going to steal that Vespa parked outside the hotel let’s just anticipate that this is a great record, but understanding why is very difficult. Several things that usually would spell “defect” work exceptionally fine in this disc. The tracks are stretched, definitely improvised (although forms of predetermination might exist), unfolding bit by bit, cancer cells spreading in an unhealthy body. The frequencies are rather muffled, everything sounding as if recorded in a burrow, at times hyper-compressed. The stereo image seems to have been reduced to an all-frequency jam. Guitars and amplifiers are most likely manipulated, and there should be some shortwave transmission around as well. Sampling, too (…right, guys? What about three-four explanatory lines on the sleeve, so that the poor reviewer who’s got no time to surf the web isn’t forced to a shitty figure?) The entire jumble often hisses like a hundred geysers and, wait a minute, what’s that – chords? – in the third track we hear vaguely Pink Floyd-ish chords, soon scrambled and macerated by yet another accumulation of crumbling distortions and waves. An aircraft flies, a train hoots in the distance (aural illusions, maybe). The sense of anguish never ceases yet the effect is somewhat glorious – principally in the hardly mobile drone at the start of the closing piece (whose title is “JBPAJBDNBRDLB” – does anybody see what I mean, now?). That also ends in Electric Mayhem-land. File under “suburban neighbourhood in the vicinity of Peeesseye and Phantom Limb + Bison”, with an ominous touch and more uncontrollable disorders.
SHELF LIFE – Concerning the absence of floors (Friend And Relatives)
Shelf Life – in this instance Bryan Day, Joseph Jaros, Luke Polipnick, Alex Boardman, Jay Kreimer – produce homespun improvisations that reserve quite a few surprises in the long-distance quest for new methods of enlarging our consciousness by the use of abnormal sounds. Through various combinations of instrumentalists (four quartets and a trio), this collective excavates holes where the listener observes rare lights and a myriad of different solutions. The instruments – as it often happens in Day’s project, not listed on the CD sleeve – are manipulated according to a gentle chemistry of barely touched percussion, scraped strings, controlled hum and frictional refractivity, bringing to mind the work of artists such as Adam Sonderberg, Jon Mueller and Jason Kahn, if only as vague references. Every once in a while the level of electricity is raised up to the threshold of bearable nervousness, dirty droning and acrid discharges at the basis of a jumble of frequencies and pulses whose poor man’s magnificence equals the ragged pleasure that they elicit, a much welcome tension that pressures for being considered heavenly, without succeeding (the fourth track “Obsolescence ∙ lflo” – sic – gets very near that result, though). Still, remaining with our feet in the soil of lo-fi pre-enlightenment is undeniably better that deluding ourselves of having “found the way”.
KEIICHIRO SHIBUYA – Filmachine phonics (Atak)
“I make music that nobody’s ever heard before”, states Keiichiro Shibuya in enthusiastic fashion. According to what’s announced, “Filmachine phonics” is the first-ever tridimensional sound CD, where the sources move not only horizontally, but also up and down and even obliquely; headphone listening is obviously necessary to enjoy this new concept of sonic spatialization. Putting my own feet on the ground, this is a nice piece of computer music: in less than 20 minutes, we’re treated to an avalanche of impressive roars, contrasting frequencies and dynamic shifts that indeed move in many directions, wrapping our skull in less-than-protective halos of cognitive disintegration. From nuclear winds to jet engines, these emissions run the whole gamut of overwhelming forces, slapping the listeners’ attention again and again, forcing them to hold firmly to a virtual handle not to be thrown beyond the limits of bearable (careful with volume, ladies and gentlemen, as these cyber-insects do sting the membranes). An excellent example of engaging acrid electronica but – as far as the 3D sound is concerned – I sincerely didn’t hear too many differences, compared to the other surround-based aural experiences that I had. This doesn’t detract in any way from the artistic value of an intriguing release.
KEIICHIRO SHIBUYA / NORBERT MOSLANG / TOSHIMARU NAKAMURA – Atak 008: Keiichiro Shibuya / Norbert Moslang / Toshimaru Nakamura (Atak)
Excellent material throughout this record, which comprises a collective improvisation and two individual compositions for each of the participants. In the three-way setting, hoards of rocketing emissions, immaterial crescendos and scabbed eruptions propagate in unpredictable fantasies in a kind of evolved, testosterone-fueled immunization therapy against bell-and-whistle laptoppery. Although the three distinct personalities are quite evident – even if I have a hard time detecting the “guitar” credited to Nakamura – the bionic clusters and futuristic wakes surrounding me do not resemble anything I’ve heard from the single composers. The solo tracks offer even more coherence, furtherly clarifying the respective approaches to this difficult matter; while Nakamura and Shibuya’s unique sonic paradoxes exploit distortion, conceptual fragmentation and repressed feedback, Moslang confirms his current state of grace by processing his cracked everyday electronics, giving them a pulse, a life and an evolution which put his two tracks half an inch higher than the rest. But the whole album is first-rate as far as shortcircuiting one’s brain is concerned.
SHIFTS – Vertonen (Humbug)
I’m very positively impressed with “Vertonen”, a loop-based record that brought me back to the best moments of the genre bordering on post-industrial, dark minimal – in a word, quintessential solitude. Seven tracks with no name (at least on my copy) define a music in which – since the very first moments – you can almost taste acre syrups of rumbling drones and mesmerizing repetitions. There’s an excellent use of medium-to-low frequencies, just stained a little bit by a few electronic clicks; sounds are placed with extreme care and even the isolated electro/acoustic event seems to follow a perfectly defined logic. Among the many useless releases of similar kind, this particular one stands well over average and presents several sections I could almost call “emotional” – certainly not so easy to say to everyone when entering the realm of contemporary hypnotic soundscape assemblers.
SHIFTS – Vertonen 9 (Public Eyesore)
Frans De Waard’s “Shifts” project is surely one of the best showcases for his talents. Developing a net of deeply resonating, ear-affecting electronic pulses (which indeed are heavily processed guitars) Frans goes straight to the core of the experiment, lulling the subject in front of the speakers in a precise scheme of hypnotic continuums that evolve gradually yet almost cluelessly on our side. The best asset of “Vertonen 9″ is its powerful capability of filling not only your head but your whole house with crowds of strange hums and moans; just try to go somewhere else during the reproduction and what sounded like a rumble will appear there too, like the shadow of a mermaid. This is one of those cases where the imagery of sounds can both be observed and kept undercurrent: the excellence remains just the same.
SHIFTS – Branches (Taalem)
“Branches” is one third of a triptych of recent compositions by Frans De Waard for his Shifts project, which at the beginning was based on modified guitar sounds, then continued by working on those results with a computer. Here, we’re welcomed by a malformation of bagpipe-like tones in incessant resonance, a relentless superimposition of real and ghost notes, the virtual fusion of Phill Niblock, Tony Conrad and Jim O’Rourke around the “Happy Days” era. De Waard’s motorized approach on the instruments (in this case, detuned acoustic guitars) elicits camouflaged tapestries and internal cyclical patterns, bringing us to compare the music to a cybernetic mantra whose components follow an independent path yet, somehow, resolve into a single torrential flow of galvanizing dissonant energy. Too bad that this is a 3-inch, as I would have loved hearing this combination for a longer time; the “repeat” mode is recommended.
SHIFTS – Trees/Leaves (Entr’acte)
This LP will likely constitute the last release by Frans De Waard under the Shifts moniker. Started in 1995, this project has probably gone even too far away in respect to De Waard’s original intentions, but it has surely meant quite a lot for aficionados of string-based droning (even if once he did make a piece with a cymbal). This final chapter is exactly what one would expect in a Shifts album: two long mantras for superimposed guitars, whose strings are bowed or in some way stressed with motorized appliances. No changes in the harmony, no illusions of modulations, nothing. The only thing that we feel mutating is the frequency of the vibration, and this makes the sound range from a bagpipe-like drone to a harmonium replica. Imagine, if you will, a cheaper and mellower version of Tony Conrad’s most entrancing material and you’re almost there. Both “Trees” and “Leaves” are fine tracks, but I have a slight preference for the latter, be it for its relative tension as opposed to the rawer distorted amalgam of “Trees” – a real test for your woofers, this one – or maybe due to the fact that the tonal adjacences, especially towards the end of the piece, recall the voices of praying monks (hey, better this than sampling them). I maintain that static music is made for CDs, but I welcome exceptions.
SHIFTS / VERTONEN – Split (Cohort)
It’s great when you find a record mixing the best qualities that electronica aficionados can enjoy, namely impressive sound treatments, unobtrusive hypnosis, discreet depth so that one can decide either to concentrate on the music or to use the sounds as an active background while doing something equally pleasing. In a bizarre twist of names, Shifts (Frans De Waard) creates his “Vertonen” tracks through heavily processed guitar sounds; his “Number 17″ contained here is a truly engrossing example, applying these formulas in distant chorales of allusions propagating like a gas in the surrounding space for a total abandon by the nerves. A little more “present”, but equally effective in its gorgeous manipulation of frequencies, “Six layers to a masquerade” by Vertonen (the musician) is a piece which tries to explore different areas of blurred repetition; the unpretentious standards of these static landscapes can be both mindbending and gently moaning – but the overall stunning effect remains.
SHINKEI – Binaural beats + reprocessing (Koyuki) / Binaural frequency (Koyuki)
This music needs complete silence, otherwise there’s no way of enjoying the eventual benefits that it should bring. We’re talking about sounds that, appearing under the guise of subsonic frequencies and extremely high, piercing tones, stimulate the hemispheres of the brain according to the phenomenon known as “frequency following response”, which enhances determinate activities of our mind or, alternatively, causes a state of relaxation. The whole works well if one listens to it – at a pretty consistent volume – in a large room which responds, together with the nerves, to the excitement generated by the strength and depth of the emissions. For sheer depiction purpose: lows that might shake the ground and highs almost on a par with the ones that only animals hear (make no mistake, animals are far superior – in this and many other kinds of sensitiveness – to men. But we can always try and better ourselves). For my personal taste, the “collaboration” of the environment is preferred, although the most direct effect on the cerebrum is probably obtained via headphone listening. Regarding the titles: the first is a double 3-inch CD, the “reprocessing” handled by Philip Lemieux who renders the original Shinkei sources more similar to an installation soundscape than a bombardment of waves. “Binaural frequency” is a 9-minute track downloadable from the label’s website. Both releases deserve serious consideration, though if you live in a noisy setting their presence will be awfully difficult to detect.
SHINYVILLE – No sleep till Babylon (Public Eyesore)
It’s unlucky that I received this 2006 debut CD almost a year late, but I’m confident that their technical expertise and pop-ish, hook-ish bravura will guarantee Shinyville a sunny place in the restricted area of low-visibility rock bands that need to be exposed to further fame. I’m not kidding: these cats can play, and “No sleep till Babylon” is chock full of excellent music. They are Mr. PanTastic (vocals), Dr. Tao Honeybunsen (drums), Pope-bot 2012 (“makes guitar noises”, they say, but he is very gifted if you ask me) and the fourth member, Golemite, is an iPod that reproduces “aural and visual samples”; the humans also work on “synths, programming and noise”. Shinyville list a series of influences: Beck, Prince, Mr.Bungle, Bjork, Nick Cave, Tom Waits, Violent Femmes and John Zorn; but most of all I hear them as a reduced version of the fabulous Tubes (one of my favourite bands – get this, EAI zealots). Besides, they hail from Omaha, Nebraska (Fee Waybill’s birthplace) and, from what I could muster, perform masked. Any coincidence here? What I mean is that this CDs contains guitar virtuosity, synthetic nefariousness, harmonic detours and bastard vocalism in large doses, yet everything has been cooked following unusual recipes that include all of the above influences and much more (techno-lovers, there’s something for you herein). These guys sound as tight as a green pinecone, and there are a coupla (make that five or six) tunes that will stay with you for a long time, one of my favourites being “Darren Keen forgot about all the little people”. Try to get a grip on the lyrics, too and you won’t be disappointed (start with “S.O.B.”). There, I said it – Shinyville are great. We want more.
WALLY SHOUP / GUST BURNS / REUBEN RADDING / GREG CAMPBELL – The levitation shuffle (Clean Feed)
This is a scorching quartet playing music that can’t be memorized or classified: it is rather destined to remain in our memory like a vague feeling – but only after causing an overload of our senses. Saxophonist Wally Shoup is one of those voices that like to scream, whisper and suggest regardless of his colleagues’ background; he has played with Thurston Moore and Nels Cline among the others, yet the mechanisms of his phrasing fuse unaggregated sonic particles in an artistic vision that is centred around both free jazz and non-styled instantaneous composition. In this project, Shoup is flanked by three grey eminences of the Seattle scene; the most powerful voice seems to be that of bassist Reuben Radding, whose gnarling but well-rounded tone is also the cause of some momentary displacement, solved through the stabilizing presence of a “mother vibe” which sustains the quartet for the whole duration of the disc. Pianist Gust Burns – nomen omen – plays furious figurations when the going gets tough, while also acting as an element of harmonic balance between opposite forces at work. Drummer Greg Campbell is perfect for the task – one that’s virtually impossible to perform – of coordinating the unpredictable geniuses of these improvisers into some sort of next-to-derailment rhythmic train, but he himself is often happily overwhelmed by the sheer energy – at times diluted in vast spaces, but flaming nevertheless – of this magnificent ensemble.
SHUTTLE358 – Frame (12k)
Shuttle358 is Dan Abrams, and “Frame” is described as “one of the highlights of the entire microsound genre” in the press release. Now 12k reissues this work, which is among the most important and requested outings of the label, in a new sleeve printed with white ink; the disc also features a data segment containing the title track’s video in Quicktime format. Not many words are necessary to describe this warm, engaging record that unfolds with tranquil detachment, putting the listener amidst repeated series of membrane-massaging superimpositions of looping circles and Enoidal synthetic waves that resound in typically oneiric timbral concoctions, while gentle pops and clicks determine a rhythmic structure that’s often “barely there”, yet discreetly functional for the development of the music. Although nowadays a few moments may sound a tad dated in their use of sampled chords and imaginary parallel dimensions, there is indeed an aura of importance surrounding the large part of the album, which remains a concrete demonstration of how this kind of composition has been useful to introduce many people to the wonders of electronica by starting their path with something that’s accessible and, at the same moment, touching. This is still “Frame”‘s most visible contribution, besides its obvious grace.
AARON SIEGEL – The cabinet (Longbox)
Structure is what separates a bunch of noises from the definition of “pieces for percussion”. Aaron Siegel, born in 1977 and a frequent collaborator of artists such as Anthony Braxton, Fred Lonberg-Holm and Nate Wooley among many others, is a graduate in music and English literature at the University of Michigan (now he’s living in NY) who uses the above mentioned structure in the most intuitive manner to showcase his own collection of instrumental sketches. 21 tracks, each one clocking at exactly 2 minutes, ranging from pretty smooth wooden rustling and gong resonance through cryptic ruptures of a barely maintained silence via metallic squeaks, bowed cymbals and selected clangs of irregular objects. A couple of segments are dangerously harsh for the auricular membranes if listened via headphones, as Siegel often tends to work around uncomfortable frequencies that do not encourage raising the volume too much. “The cabinet” is not exactly what you’d define a relaxing listening, but certainly is not a joke either. It must be carefully scrutinized before even trying to express an opinion about it.
SABRINA SIEGEL – Grace / Precarious (Pax)
Right after my first approach to this album I checked an online interview with Sabrina Siegel, where I discovered that the girl records her music at home in peculiar settings, playing (battering?) her instruments with various tools and – get this – with rocks. She also reports that the strings of her guitar have been left unchanged for years now; I remember that the same thing was once affirmed by Henry Kaiser, and I myself love the sound of decay on old guitar strings. But it’s not exclusively strings that you’ll find in “Grace / Precarious”. Siegel is the archetypal improviser, dragging things around (the initial “Yom Kippur” reminded me somehow of Christian Weber’s “Osaka” 3-inch, with all kinds of growls and groans from what I believe to be her mistreated cello). She also puts some moan in, almost chuckling while performing acts that the lo-fi qualities of the recording let just intuit. Elsewhere, she accompanies that same cello with other kinds of vocalization: “I killed the chicken” is a cross between Maria Callas in underpants and the meeting of Eugene Chadbourne and Fred Frith in swimming outfit, while “Drop bow down cello” is my favourite track, Siegel singing along a simple arco movement unthreading many fascinating harmonics. The final “Light” is a stoned “au revoir” concluding a strangely effective, frictional outing that left me pretty unimpressed at first, but reveals substance with each new try.
SIGNAL QUINTET – Yamaguchi (Cut)
Signal Quintet was formed in 2004 by Jason Kahn to record “Timelines”, and they have remained active as an improvising entity until the present day. “Yamaguchi”, titled after the Japanese Centre for Arts and Media where this recording was made, is the document of their first tour. Consisting of Kahn (analog synthesizer, percussion), Tomas Korber (guitar, electronics), Norbert Möslang (cracked everyday electronics), Günter Müller (iPods, electronics) and Christian Weber (contrabass), this is probably the most illuminated conjunction of electroacoustic improvisers – born or living in Switzerland – that we can enjoy nowadays. It is almost futile to look for new terms able to describe what the cognoscenti are already aware of. These artists know the meaning of the words “measure” and “restraint”, and those are exactly the main features of this music, which is finely tuned to a rational balance between the “microbiotic” boiling of the electronic sources and the evocative dances between the drone and the low-string tolling that Weber fathers, giving the music an aura of imperturbability and menace at one and the same time, besides gifting it with the most evident touches of acoustic consciousness. From this radiating cauldron, in between semi-natural deprivations of light and amidst cyberfaunae living in the mud, muted invocations – prayers that are too shy to get out of a mouth – are summoned forth during several bewitching states of altered reality. In those moments, one feels lucky to have the chance to experience something like this.
VALGEIR SIGURDSSON – Ekvílíbrium (Bedroom Community)
Every once in a while, a lovely “commercial” release comes forth on the reviewer’s desk, only to be declared “not exactly commercial” after two or three listenings. Let me be perfectly clear: throughout my life I’ve been loving pop records like no one can – I mean, the really good ones – therefore I’m never averse to one hour of divertissement placed in between torrents of earth loops and cascades of stridency. Valgeir Sigurdsson’s CD, though, reveals a touch of obliqueness amidst the most relaxing materials that transforms every session in a refreshing discovery of new particulars that you missed the previous time. Ten tracks, six instrumentals and four with vocalists (Bonnie Prince Billy, Dawn McCarthy and J.Walker/Machine Translations), whose skeleton at times looks techno-fied almost to the excess (like in the opener “A symmetry”) yet designed with millimetric precision and care for the microscopic detail that go along very well with delicate, warmly wrapping string arrangements, my overall favourite being heard in “Evolution of waters” (in this case by the composer himself, while in “Winter sleep” and “Kin” they were penned by the excellent Nico Muhly, who plays in these and other pieces of the album). This “natural-but-strange-anyway” aura takes the sophistication factor out of the equation, so that “Ekvílíbrium” can be roughly defined as a mixture of Scott Walker, Penguin Cafe Orchestra, Pastels and (put your drum’n’bass choice name here) with crippled overtones appearing in selected moments, as to remind us that sugar and honey aren’t necessary.
SILLAGE – Sillage (Sedimental)
Gaspingly looking for a virtual box to file this recording in, I remained unsuccessful even after the second and third listens, becoming seriously convinced that there is no real chance of achieving the goal. Brendan Murray and Seth Nehil are mostly considered for their work with, respectively, “long form dense compositions of pure sound” and “multi-speaker installations” besides being acknowledged for clever contributions to various types of scene. “Sillage”, though, will surprise in different ways, especially because it features environments and settings nearer to acousmatic music than loop-and-drone-based soundscapes, despite flourishing from the seeds of what the two artists have been doing throughout their career. This doesn’t mean that de-structured field recordings and smog-smelling repetition are absent: there are indeed thick layers of that kind of colouring, but Murray and Nehil worked a real lot on a factor that elevates these eight pieces to the highest level of aural gratification, spelled “dynamics”. Abrupt changes, imperceptible pulses, awesome imagery and secret codes are sapiently mixed with the unsophisticated biotic qualities of natural timbres and that omnipresent metropolitan aroma which makes one feel lost in an unfamiliar soundtrack. Electroacoustic sceneries crossing the hubbub of a shopping mall and the invisible-yet-audible movements of a set of turbines get entwined with threatening passages full of harsher details and ever-growing sense of doubt. Saving the best for last, the pair drills the final track “Waving” into our cerebrum through a scary juxtaposition of sources whose mass – first scarcely mobile, then continuously morphing in panic-eliciting growth – looks for us, positioned womb-like in the tiny hole of presumption, to finally submerge a useless corporeal entity by enhancing the absence of relevance that paralyzes many people and, instead, is the basis of a primary principle of existence that they still refuse to accept. This impenetrability might leave many receivers puzzled in mental standstill, but hopefully someone’s willing to start the process all over again. If this is not a masterpiece, we’re very close. (PS: it’s Seth NEHIL, not “Nihil”…)
SILO – Silo (Utech)
Basically consisting of Audrey Chen on cello and voice plus Leonel Kaplan and Nate Wooley on trumpets, Silo document four improvisational settings alternating distillations of concentrated interactions between voices and trumpets and hair-curling, dramatic spontaneous ceremonies of initiation where all sounds seem to abandon their primary meaning to chime through extremely emotional landscapes. One could think that this music may have been played in a giant tank, as the recording’s natural reverberation adds an extra touch of intense nervousness, sort of a “presence” which seems to propagate all around the musicians. Wooley and Kaplan measure their vibrating affirmations like native Indians do when tending their ears against the wind; Chen is the cardinal point of reference with her pregnant disfigurements of self-absorption and ever-present quest for truth. On two of the tracks, James Webster joins the expedition with traditional Maori instruments and voice.
ART SIMON – More of the same + (Cohort)
Coming in a slim DVD case are two discs by Art Simon, who performs all alone on guitar and MIDI Theremin and, additionally, programs computers. It must be immediately told that this is not a milestone, but somehow I managed to find some interesting trace in this strange pastiche (wondering if this is involuntary). Imagine a concoction that, in a low-budget setting, tries to fuse sparse components of Frippertronics, early David Torn and Muslimgauze over basic tracks built upon drum machine patterns that range from spastic meters to pseudo-techno. Throw in distortion – lots of it – and a pinch of space rock attitude; the result is not what one usually needs for a tranquil afternoon and furthermore, in several occasions, a slight measure of dilettantism can be smelled. Still, certain combinations of dirty resonance and Theremin warble produce strangely appealing gradations, thus delivering the music from the “pale imitation” yoke. Indeed, looking for something nice to be said, most of this material sounds bizarrely unique despite the similarities shown by its constituting elements. A release that slips in just by a hair, given its curious mixture of naiveté and cheap noise-making, where substance might be detected in spurts. Maybe a single CD would have worked better.
LUKAS SIMONIS – Stots (Z6)
A very interesting album, full of twists, quirks and ruptures of that ordinariness that often affects the “grand scheme of things” in improvised music (yes, there are schemes in there, too), “Stots” presents 16 pretty short sketches for guitar, voice, electronics, objects and field recordings, sometimes in the space of the same piece. Although Simonis has played with the likes of Eugene Chadbourne, Eddie Prevost and Jon Rose, his music is totally parentless, seemingly recognizing no influences; even the titles are in a “secret language”, to help listeners not to be influenced by “dogmatic and misunderstood information”. In that sense, the disc’s high point is a track called “& Adoot”, a fiendish arrangement where a fragmented voice is pitch-transposed all over the place and Simonis’ guitar is, for lack of a better word, “corroded”, while the rest moves according to a completely unique planetology. Over the course of the whole CD, one gaspingly waits for hooks or tunes, but all that Lukas gives is parching dissonance, arrhythmia a go-go and unpredictably fractured “melodies”, whose chance of being remembered – much less sung – is nil. “Stots” is in a class of its own, it’s dirty and gross but also splendidly refined (when the composer wants it to be). No parallelism is possible, just relax and enjoy a very bumpy ride through acousmatic miscreancy.
LUKAS SIMONIS & TAKAYUKI KAWABATA – News (Z6)
Lukas Simonis is not an overly productive type of solo artist, but what he has been releasing of late deserves the utmost attention and respect, showcasing the ideas of a talented composer and a rather unequalled personality in a panorama of too many shouters who have actually nothing crucial to say. What he does want to say, on the contrary, is that a language is “very suitable for massive misinterpretation”. I love this concept, as a firm non-believer in the common usage of words; transitively, I also liked this album, originally deriving from a “multiphonic” piece that Simonis wrote for cellist Kumi Otte Kondo, based on a text by Japanese poet Takayuki Kawabata. Intrigued by the latter’s writings, Simonis further elaborated the hypothesis by creating “News”, scored for his guitar, a female voice (Miki Sugiura) and two cellos (Kondo and Nina Hitz). The basis of everything is improvisation: the players recorded their parts following some “route descriptions” by the leader, who subsequently took the material to decompose and remodel it. What emerges from this manipulation is an absorbing music that jumps from one non-meaning to another, yet maintains a fascinating lyrical aspect (the cellos are undoubtedly responsible for the large part of this). Due to the uncommon vocalism of Sugiura and the scissoring zigzags of an almost unrecognizable guitar – appearing just every once in a while for additional destabilizations of the process – we often think about a hypothetical opera written by William Burroughs, unexpected cuts and sudden changes all over the place. Yet this is not someone rummaging through genres in the name of a presumed geniality. No, this is serious stuff whose pigmentation reveals weeks of hard work and passionate involvement. My applause for its excellence comes well deserved.
SUMUGAN SIVANESAN / DURAN VAZQUEZ – Product (Cronica)
Both these two electrocuting circuit breakers – splitting a CD like it was a vinyl, one side each – could be a new force, right now, in the new “post everything” scene, at least in the urban landscape/altered sound perception area. Sydney-based Sivanesan mostly works on those frequencies that change your listening as you move around, putting your monitors to severe tests even at medium level (look at the title of his work for confirmation). Waves shifting all over, holes punched in brains, patterns understood only after a few seconds of ear adapting. Plus, a few good old field recordings get treated and modified according a lucid creativity, in a series of frameworks that must not be ignored by any attentive new music follower. For his part, Vazquez gets to ears a little more pleasingly as his work, devoid of any academic study, is a bridge linking the best “industrial” aromas of the past (dark pulsating loops, low neon-light city soundtracks) with an outlook towards modern present-day pessimism; Duran seems to know there’s no chance for smiling. Even his use of noise is near to social discomfort more than being sonic terrorism. I acknowledge these absolutely respectable entries in my gallery of recent favorites; keep an eye on them in the immediate future because I feel they won’t disappoint.
JULIEN SKROBEK – Le palais transparent (Free Software Series)
This is a “composition for guitars and sine waves using Audacity under Debian”, dedicated to Radu Malfatti. The latter attribute is quite discernible, as the record is made of few discharges and long silences, yet the sounds are “scarcely frequent” in some instance, certainly more than in Malfatti’s music. What can we say? This is not a bad album, but it’s not very significant either. The guitar mostly appears in a rather consonant dress, indeed the characteristic that I like the least; alternatively, one’s got to appreciate the sine wave outbursts that every once in a while raise their head to set my house’s loose parts in motion, given the consistency of their frequency jumble. Silence, as usual, may host a multitude of elements, from your own blood pressure to outside birds, or maybe the TV from the neighbouring room. It remains to be determined how much we need a release that might be attractive in certain segments of your day but, on the other hand, appears as a low-budget version of concepts whose originality has already begun to show signs of wear and tear. This particular item is nice enough to pass the test, though.
SLAMMIN’ THE INFINITE – Live @ the Vision Festival (Not Two)
For some strange reason, the trombone has often been associated with irony or comic situations and, despite the immense artistic talents of virtuosos such as Paul Rutherford or Paul Hubweber (…or Bruce Fowler!), this instrument is yet under-considered as a creative weapon, much less in a front man’s hands. But we’re ever so lucky to have friends like Steve Swell, who plays the damn thing as if that was the last day of his life, injecting the music with huge soul, gravitational pulls towards the right energy channels and astounding technical wizardry. Swell is the boss of the Slammin’ the Infinite quartet, which comprises a truly fabulous Sabir Mateen on reeds, Matt Heyner on bass and Klaus Kugle on drums. For this concert, they were joined by the excellent pianist John Blum. The three tracks are exemplary specimens of what jazz can still produce when approached with the correct frame of mind. Taking off from short thematic sketches, the musicians are soon rollin’ and tumblin’ down the ravines of the most enthusiast freedom of choice, wasting no time in assaulting the audience with an educated fracas containing the germs of spontaneous rebellion mixed with the necessary lucidity for the pursuance of a fundamental aim. The continuity of exchange of sonic information among the players, involving feelings that run the whole gamut of passion and rage, is the basic foundation of repeated blasts of fierce musicianship which the “collective” quality of the recording does not hinder for a second. The virtues of the single members are well audible throughout, making for constant, unremitting shared excitement.
RAN SLAVIN – Product 02 (Cronica)
Blinding flashes, quick mirages and sad memories seem to be what Ran Slavin builds upon. Here he presents two works, “Tropical agent” and “Ears in water”; both parts very well functioning as “active ambient” material, perfect to be listened during other activities – nevertheless, the care in assembling sounds is total, guaranteeing a stimulating perspective from the listener’s point of view. Tasteful morsels of ahead-thinking knowledge about the psychology of aural reception are continuously served during the 70+ minutes of the disc; the music itself becomes a mechanism for turning up a mellow unquietness which is essential in this “product” appreciation process. This music does not attack you directly, it rather settles into your humour transforming itself, helping filling those voids that are the first signs of uneasiness in a nice example of emotional juggling.
SCOTT SMALLWOOD – Desert winds: 6 windblown sound pieces and other works (Deep Listening)
Would you ever think about the abandoned Enola Gay hangar, full of rust and rubbish, having a sound speaking to your soul? Have you ever listened to the blowing of the wind through chairs and metal leftovers? Mr.Smallwood, a computer music teacher and active composer/improviser on the New York scene, has carefully recorded desert winds in those and many other field situations, presenting us with a great record: like a magician’s mysterious touch, winds have their own distinct voice and interact with the obstacles they meet during their short lifespan. The last piece on the CD is an excellent treatment of sport fans noises, named “Trojan chant”: quite different from all the rest, but absolutely perfect in its reiterative, involving mantra-like construction.
GARY SMITH – SuperTexture (Sijis)
This 2-CD set comprises a solo album by Smith, on electric guitar with no additional effects except a volume pedal, and a disc of “treatments and interpretations” of his improvisations by thirteen artists in close contact with his music one way or another, namely Bill Fay, Steve Roden, Elliott Sharp, David Tibet, Paulo Raposo, Bernhard Günter, Tom Wallace, the Zoltan Kodaly School for Girls, Peter Rehberg, Tianna Kennedy, Charles Hayward, BJ Nilsen and Aufgehoben. Both records are interesting and quite enjoyable. Smith conceives instant compositions with ease, his fingers picking and scraping strings, pickups and wood to elicit microsounds, roaring thuds, snarling groans and clickety-clackety snippets that at times might sound as computer-generated to unprepared ears, but absolutely aren’t. Indeed an expert guitarist is able to more or less determine where these tiny capsules spring from, but listening to them remains pleasurable enough this notwithstanding. The second disc is quite strange right from the start (despite their long-time collaboration, the fusion of Bill Fay’s voice and keyboards and Smith’s freedom here does not yield very exciting sensations), yet there is a good choice of quality moments, most notably the tracks by Raposo, Hayward and Nilsen that, exploiting the guitarist’s inventions by putting them in a significance-mincing, often loop-based context, create several sublime moments of pure groove-and-bliss, thus generating a striking contrast between the first and the second CD, a noticeable divergence which is probably “SuperTexture”‘s strongest asset.
IAN SMITH – Tryst (Red Toucan/Happydays)
Thanks to Brian Godding I stumbled upon this great handicraft from 1997; it’s a quintet led by a highly skilled soloist, trumpeter Ian Smith, in different improvising settings with Godding himself plus Marcio Mattos, Mark Sanders and Thebe Lipere. I’d really like to find a correct definition for this music, but it’s virtually impossible: there are lots of variables each one looking for a path of its own, like airy currents stratifying themselves until forming delightful designs in the sky. Smith and Mattos appear as the carrying force in many of the pieces, with their companions silently and industriously working around them to paint impressionistic backgrounds and intelligent decorations. Most of this music is tranquil and relaxing, its best fragments being slow timbral affirmations rather than doses of overspeak. Even in the few “swinging” blowouts brain usage prevails upon uncontrolled freedom; last but not least, Godding’s guitar synth solo is not to be missed: sarcasm and sweetness married forever!
IAN SMITH / SIMON H. FELL / HARRIS EISENSTADT – K3 (Bruce’s Fingers)
Pursuing the ideal balance of dynamic interplay in a succession of loud/soft/loud incarnations, this trio collects photos of barely controlled freedom which sound concretely inquisitive, if a little rough-edged at times. Upon a complex rhythmical kaleidoscope built by Eisenstadt, who somehow glues the ever-growing polymorphous developments of multicoloured timbral nuances, Smith blows masterfully through a conglomerate of labyrinthine utterances and dramatic voice alterations, looking at a past in transit through many influences (heaven knows why I was reminded of Mothers Of Invention’s “Weasels ripped my flesh” more than once). Fell’s possession of the double bass is complete and wholly gratifying; he sustains tension with accurate technique and effortless efficiency, his conversational skills within the trio always intelligible, even in the most burning sections. The music climbs quite high in spiraliform paths, reinforced rather than disturbed by its own disorders, heading to a corrugated consciousness that acts as these musicians’ manifesto; amidst all this uncontrollable movement, snippets of phrases and melodic twists appear every once in a while as to give some orientation to the ones who could get lost in the realms of this truly unpigeonholeable kind of improvisation.
ROGER SMITH – Spanish Guitar (Emanem)
After being positively surprised by the extremely enjoyable “Green Wood”, I was most pleased to hear additional music by Smith. Playing in his usual “non troppo-delicate”, nylon-string plucking style, Roger helps us discovering yet more facets of his well affirmed presence, starting from Bailey’s shadow to arrive to soft acoustic meditations for strings, wood percussives and metallic noise (but…mind you: everything’s coming from the single instrument or – in some instance – from the environment around, cars, a defective chair, just listen). Smith is an intelligent guitarist and his playing never stresses your nerves; in a way, you could almost say his sound is “relaxing” – even in the most contorted sections he keeps his musicianship on hand and does not allow any loss of concentration or clarity. All this makes for records that stand the “real music or just noodling?” test – with full marks by my side.
ROGER SMITH & LOUIS MOHOLO-MOHOLO – The butterfly and the bee (Emanem)
It takes a while to get used to the maculate interplay between a perspicacious drum painter and a man whose style leapfrogs between sporadical windows of technical legalism and an all-out dance of the fingers on a percussive instrument – yes, his guitar. I don’t know if the title refers to the famous Muhammad Ali motto (“Floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee”) but this music has many qualities that made me think to natural inexplicabilities and environmental infiltrations in our daily life, like when one can hear the distant rumble of an approaching storm preceded by the first rain drops. Smith and Moholo-Moholo don’t offer easy escapes or safety handles: their total non-conformity – even in an open setting like an improvisation – swoops on the listeners forcing them to penetrate the details, to make contact in the flesh, to abandon diffidence in order to enjoy difficulties like if they were instant evolutional processes as opposed to an unwanted helter-skelter in their encrusted mental habits.
JOS SMOLDERS – Textures and mobiles (CONV net.lab)
The mutability and the mellowness of Jos Smolders’ pieces for mobile ringtones is certainly surprising and extremely pleasant. Far from those undesirable bleeps and stupid melodies we’ve unfortunately grown used to during our everyday contacts, these sounds are small fragments of synthesis subtracted to silence and their presence rapidly becomes appreciated – even welcome – as long as the brain automatically finds small holes in its structure to allow them developing their not-so-superficial significance. This linear architecture expresses its most contemplative character during impressive radiations of incisive subfrequencies, like in the cerebral rubbing of “Texture 2″ or in the slow glissando oscillation – similar to a takeoff sensation – in “Texture 4a”. Even in its simplest forms, Jos’ ideas resplend with the beauty of simplicity.
JOS SMOLDERS – Habitat (And/OAR)
The acoustic ecology of Jos Smolders manages to refresh the listener’s brain through a sapient dosage of silence and events in a sort of sonic chemoterapy delivering us from residual particles of predictable manifestations. These sounds are best enjoyed in a silent environment, with just a modicum of external activity coming to enhance them, in order to be able to define their position not only in the surrounding space but also in that precise moment of your existence; street noises get filtered by effects, becoming an ever changing solution of fluorescent colours and concrete digital grains, the whole in a continuous struggle against predetermined shapes. Morphing voices of animals and humans are refracted in a thousand directions, yet they always remain within earshot, blending and fusing in shifting dynamic relationships with semi-organic external activities, thus reinforcing these soundscapes’ evocative appeal. Everything sounds perfect in this veritable documentary; Smolders confirms his silent, steady growth as an assembler of suggestions.
SOCOS – Hyperythmique analogue (Triple Bath)
This man looks quite a character. The press release’s photo reveals him as a curious Pat Metheny/Frank Zappa facial hybrid. He’s Greek, yet the titles of the pieces and the writings on the CD sleeve are in French. He plays classical guitar alternating traditional and extended techniques. His curriculum speaks about several collaborations – among them the “cult rock band” Aera Patera – that I’m obviously completely unfamiliar with (hey, I can’t guarantee miracles yet). The 42 minutes of “Hyperythmique analogue” are subdivided into five tracks, each one with a different aura, all of them played with sober seriousness and restraint, except in a couple of instances where percussive elements and more relevant dynamic peaks are introduced. Socos utilizes the whole body of the instrument efficiently, tapping the strings to elicit micro-harmonics and skeletal zinging structures while thumping on the wood to have the air within expanding harmoniously in shades of chords and spectra of barely audible notes. He also applies metallic objects to the strings, causing a Frithian bounce during the changes. Scraping sounds and a slight measure of processing complete the experimental face of the album, which is finely complemented by two longer segments where Socos performs limpidly and without any preparation, highlighting the simple pleasures contained in compositions that mix medieval progressions and ingenuous minimalism reminiscent of Hans Joachim Roedelius’ shy piano pastels (“Louise Michel”). Enchanting material indeed. Not bad at all for a solo debut, especially considering how easy doing damage to people’s ears with a guitar is. Ultra limited edition of 96 copies, therefore act quickly.
SOLO ANDATA / SEAWORTHY / TAYLOR DEUPREE – Live in Melbourne (12k)
This limited edition of 500 copies is the recorded testimony of an evening at the Northcote Social Club in Melbourne where two sonic entities gravitating around the orbit of 12k – plus the label boss himself – graced the membranes of the participants with a stimulating ambient-related piece each, “despite the ghosts of BBC hijacking the audio system” as Deupree reports. Solo Andata, the duo of Paul Fiocco and Kane Ikin, presented a delicately excruciating, diaphanous pastel where the calmness of the instrumental deployment orientates the character of the music towards the charms that only conscious melancholy can generate in a curious pot-pourri of oriental ceremonials and interfering urban hum that facilitates complete relaxation. Seaworthy’s core member is Cameron Webb, a scientist of the environment who uses his own field recordings in extremely easy to the ears compositions based on gentle guitars and loops, quite reminiscent of Eno in their scarcely surprising, somehow reassuring progressions and – well, yes – Fripp in the conclusive junction of suspended, slightly saturated harmonics, although sweetened by dreamy clean-toned arpeggios. Taylor Deupree closes the show with a hypnotizing segment where everything appears as recognizable yet actually isn’t. What sounds like a repeated pluck of electric guitar strings stands out in a foggy static soundscape whose motionlessness is just a creation of the mind, as instead ripples and rivulets of self-reproducing viscous materials submerge any tentative opposition to this granular status quo. To paraphrase early Peter Gabriel, a river of constant, if scarcely visible change.
SONATA REC – …Und wir waren nicht die ersten Utopisten (AIC)
Behind this mystifying 3-inch disc hides Heidrun Schramm, of whom nothing I know. The whole appears to have been largely built upon vocal sounds, some of them unequivocal – snippets of speeches and radio programs, children, all rigorously in German – the rest somehow malformed, squashed, customized and suffocated by a painstaking work of processing. There seems to be something “clicking” in a different way, electronically prying, surrounding certain sections of the mix – breathing and saliva finding their way into the hotchpotch, too. Also concrete manifestations, if very rarely (then again, isn’t human voice a “concrete sound” after all?). The sense is one of chilliness and apprehension, just like being part of a reality that doesn’t welcome and is equally disliked. Well conceived stuff, by some means referable to the aesthetic laws of Asmus Tietchens’ world – with less cynicism and probably less depth – yet worthy of more than a single listen.
ADAM SONDERBERG / PAUL BRADLEY – Anoxia (Longbox/Twenty Hertz)
“Anoxia” moves around those coordinates where hypnosis and concrete soundscapes meet gorgeous timbral radiance in a severe reproach to the faint-minded. Bowing and rubbing deeply resonant metal sources with knowledgeable sensitiveness, Sonderberg establishes invisible patterns of almost mystical impenetrability that are stretched to the limits of different unconceivable structures by the sapient mix of Paul Bradley. The sound, at first just a rumbling presence under your perception radar, slowly becomes a combination of well proportioned arcane umbrae, whose impressive force seems to belong to superior levels of human of human development. This piece is stripped of any useless expansion, tending to an austere affirmation of elemental might through simple mutations of anguish into something that, at the end, is resembling a physical alleviation.
SONIC CATERING BAND – Live from the canteens of Atlantis (Absurd)
Cooking and improvisation, pretty fascinating link, huh? This 2-CD set presents the engaging, lifting, confusing and eye-opening aural results from various live sets by the Sonic Catering guys, including their last one in Geneva. These concerts were serious (?) rituals, where group members took large amounts of time creating a sombre mix of kitchen appliances and looping/reverberating treatments. While surely the visual aspect played a fundamental role in this new artistic philosophy, there is no reason not to appreciate the music itself, stripped of everything to the bare acoustic message. There’s a lot to like here, especially if you’re fond of realities like Noise-Maker’s Fifes or old Zoviet France: the mantric infinite repeats, the distortion of never boring lo-fi grooves, above all a sense of sincerity and commitment to the project that transpires from any moment of the recordings. They were one of a kind indeed – and it shows.
SONIC OPENINGS UNDER PRESSURE – Muhheankuntuk (Clean Feed)
The title is a word from Lenape tribe’s language that means “river that flows two ways” in reference to New York’s Hudson. This comparison is useful to describe the outlandish mixture of thematic cleverness and fractal rhythmic disintegration – but always with a well discernible pulse – characterizing this trio, formed by Patrick Brennan (alto sax), Hilliard Greene (bass) and David Pleasant (Densemetrix/percussion, harmonica and voice). My instinct, while approaching this highly charged group for the first time, suggested to link their work with Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time, Ronald Shannon Jackson’s Decoding Society, James Blood Ulmer. A spiritual link, not necessarily a stylistic one. The contrast between Brennan’s atonal flights, which nevertheless maintain a sense of regulation in between finely chiseled but totally explosive counterpoints, and the effervescent drumming by Pleasant (whose polyrhythmic mastery is astounding to say the least), is somehow rendered more functional by Greene’s elegant rebellion to the chains of obedience, his bass constituting the catalyzing presence that allows the music to remain cohesive as oil on the surface of an agitated sea. All over the seven tracks the musicians sound nervously determined, akin to prisoners looking into each other’s very eyes before trying to escape from jail. There’s not a weak point, not a moment when I thought “been there already”. The icing on the cake is the shortest chapter “The hardships”, a spectacular synthesis of rap, tribal and technically advanced instrumental interaction; if you aren’t tapping your feet or at least nodding in approval while listening to that one, you probably need a pacemaker.
SONIC SYSTEMS LABORATORY – Two vibraphones (Split)
Sonic Systems Laboratory are Robbie Avenaim and Dale Gorfinkel. For this recording, the duo equipped a pair of vibraphones with various alterations as in a sonic sculpture of sorts, looking for textures that might or might not be immediately associated with that instrument, utilizing simple yet effective devices to bring out the sweet and the harsh and setting them in acceptable terms of sonority. These mechanisms include motorized rotating disks, micro-tonally tuned bars and various percussive means, also activated by motors. The manual participation by the principals is reduced to the bare minimum in a music whose colours range from the piercing tones derived from beating frequencies to the almost biotic rustle of sticks and mallets agitated by the engines working behind the prepared vibes. Impossible not to appreciate the quality of the work for those who enjoy machine-driven composition: Remko Scha is one of the names that instantly came to mind during the most concrete manifestations of rhythmic fragmentation. Still, the beginning of the piece offers something to Alvin Lucier lovers too – and there are hints to sonorities heard by illuminated young improvisers like Adam Sonderberg, together with a slanted involuntary imitation of the final movements in Steve Reich’s “Drumming”. Basically, also in consideration of its not excessive length, this is a concise exploration that works better as a curious experiment in timbral modification and dynamic shift than as a compositional accomplishment per se. It does sound very pleasing nonetheless, especially in the dazzlingly entrancing conclusive minutes.
SON OF GUNNAR, TON OF SHEL – Son of Gunnar, Ton of Shel (Edgetone)
This project’s title derives from its components’ names. Gudmundur Steini Gunnarsson, from Reykjavik, studied at Mills College with Alvin Lucier, Fred Frith and Annie Gosfield besides graduating at the Iceland Academy of Arts and being influenced by Tristan Murail, Karlheinz Stockhausen and Clarence Barlow. In this instance he plays prepared guitar and electronics. Aram Shelton – born in Florida, currently based in Chicago, is a multi-instrumentalist here featured on sax, bass clarinet, trumpet (and electronics, too). The album starts with something resembling a subdued feel of repressed terror rapidly escalating to total fury, the instruments wildly screaming in a mayhem of treatments and shrieks, the strings hit with everything but the kitchen sink, signals deformed and heavily processed even if the core timbres remain more or less recognizable. After a while the rage releases its grip quite a bit, leaving room to placid clarinet and sax expositions amidst metallic showers and ripples of incisive tones. Towards the record’s end, one can surprisingly locate a few delay-drenched semi-romantic arpeggios, almost to remind that Gunnarsson is just playing a guitar after all. In spite of the fact that the main sonic factors of these seven improvisations are always visible, somehow the record defies a correct categorization, enjoyable as it is in (repeated) spots and rushes rather than as a whole. Clearly, these guys are knowledgeable manipulators, able to both wreak havoc and caress your hair – with sandpaper.
SON_OF_MUMRAH – Such a waste (Evelyn)
I’m not too much of a “laptop lover” but, admittedly, Son_of_Mumrah’s effort is well conceived and nicely eruptive. Processing organic sounds through the computer, then assembling the results according to a mixture of order/repetition and casualty, the composer (Graham Williams, also recording under different pseudonyms) fathered a series of pretty minimal outbursts and corrosive exhalations, constituting a departure from the usually icy sonic deconstructions and glitching obviousness of most of this area’s releases. Like all outsiders, Williams doesn’t leave much room for mind roaming: either you like it his way, or you don’t.
SON OF ROSE – Divisions in parallel (Dragon’s Eye)
A new acquaintance for this writer, Son Of Rose is the pseudonym of Seattle-based composer Kamran Sadeghi, whose previous work mostly revolved around “synthesis and altered recordings”. For this occasion, Sadeghi utilized a few basic elements such as grand piano strings, Ebow and computer to create seven tracks in which the pianistic element is absent altogether in favour of a series of soundscapes that alternate scenarios, timbral gradations and intensities like in an evolutionist theatre piece, often traveling in the proximities of microsound-based, glitching new ambient, with a few louder moments such as the final track “Eleven Eleven”. Characterized by a frequent use of “digital dust” and barely audible harmonics, emphasizing spectral layers and spatial openings that link the pieces to a mildly experimental side of abstract electronica, the music neither deploys too many groundbreaking themes, nor highlights surprising particulars. Still, it remains anchored to a plausible canon of “less is more” derivation, seldom finding the force to invade the aural environment with a truly preponderant presence. It works best as a complement to silence: the events – both those clearly definable and others that lie underground, still contributing to the overall body of sound – are glued by various combinations of textural fluctuations that the ears receive as very welcome, even when our focus lies elsewhere. Considering the acoustic source, and that everything was improvised, not a bad result at all.
JED SPEARE – Sound works 1982-1987 (Family Vineyard)
A still young age notwithstanding – he was born in 1954 in Boston – Jed Speare has had more experiences in the artistic field than lots of elders can declare in their curricula. Among his studies, immediately striking attention are “acoustic communication, ecology and design”, undertook at Simon Fraser University of Burnaby, British Columbia. Add to this an admitted influence by R. Murray Schafer, one of the men that better explored the concept of awareness of the surrounding voices of life, and you’re only halfway through a definition of the character. This double CD gathers five lengthy compositions which can be easily classified as “concrete music”. Contrarily to many modern composers, accused by Speare of having given up too early to the “electronic mermaid” (which in his words “elicits a lesser emphatic, human response than did natural-seeming acoustic sounds”) he is deeply, affectingly influenced by the “fundamentally richer overtones of acoustic sounds available for recording just about anywhere”. Through a meticulous work of tape splicing and pasting, Speare designed sonic forms where actively participating entities and industrial/urban din weight exactly the same – like in the splendid “At the Falls”, opener of this set – and intermissions might be coming from the patients of a psychiatric hospital grunting and moaning indecipherably. Disturbing, but essentially magnificent. The tracks are diverse and highly engaging, each one for the peculiar significance at the time in which they were created: 1982’s “Taboo Death” has to do with AIDS yet appears in the guise of a crazed mutation of a salsa piece, while “Wayside” features airport noise, weaponry (?) at work, dissonant cello and dining room piano amidst a lot of changing scenarios. A sapient usage of loops and (manual) cut’n’paste transforms spoken word into an insistent repetition of incomprehensible patterns, sounding gorgeous all the way. There’s still plenty to discover and a review is not enough to emphasize the many qualities of this fascinatingly dated, often sublime release, a must-have for those who appreciate the work of Åke Hodell et similia.
MARTIN SPEICHER / GEORG WOLF / LOU GRASSI – Shapes and shadows (Clean Feed)
The hunch of ignorance that prangs my presumption when listening to excellent musicians whose work I never met before reappeared after the first contact with this beautiful album, chock full of intracutaneous interplay, inventive ingeniousness and technical wizardry but also gifted with a passionate vibe which is rare to find these days. Speicher is an alto saxophone and clarinet virtuoso, capable to deliver burning dissonant flurries at the wink of an eye, or instead decide that a little less of foot on the gas can work wonders, a perfect example being the beginning of the title track, a fourteen-minute inning of immaculate improvisation ending the CD in splendid fashion. Wolf listens and digests, only to mentally rearrange what he just heard and instantly spit out well-rounded contrapuntal designs that sustain Speicher’s flight like a mother goose does with her ducklings. Grassi is the prototype of drummer who desperately tries to avoid having his skins behaving like…skins; in truth, he would extract the right nuances by hitting abandoned cars in a forsaken site. “Shapes and shadows” was the comforting soundtrack to my train routine in a horribly grey, rainy October morning. Looking at the buildings of the urban peripheries, then at the sleepy faces of the immigrants, then again at the affected laughter of the sharp-dressed yet penniless commuters while being pervaded by this record (to which I’ve already been returning several times since) made me feel somehow lucky even in a very hard period; that’s what consciousness can achieve through powerful music. This trio releases that kind of power in abundant quantities. Highly recommended.
SPIRACLE – Ananta (Mystery Sea)
The work of Japanese Hitoshi Kojo spreads its wings over various artistic fields: he creates sounds, paints and prepares installations, his curriculum vitae finding him in collaboration with people like Michael Northam, John Grzinich and Loren Chasse. Spiracle is Kojo’s main project; under this alias he gave Mystery Sea a “special mix” of this recent composition of his, which is quite a bit different compared to the usual canon of the Belgian label. “Ananta” is a long, dirty mantra, centred around a single “tonality” – we never move from there. The sources are left undefined; the wall of sound has an imposing presence, even if the basic drone is gradually covered with the soil of interference (and by processed shortwaves, one would believe), never letting us completely penetrate its depth. It takes only a few minutes to get used to this strong presence, as the piece drifts without problems for more than a hour, during which our mind gives signs of appreciation, especially at a consistent playback volume – a move that will near “Ananta” to some of the most consonant (???) releases by David Jackman/Organum.
SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE – A new distance (Emanem)
This particular incarnation of SME with John Butcher and Roger Smith (plus Neil Metcalfe in a couple of segments) allows John Stevens’ concepts to gradually ferment and expand until each separate sound – even the single parts of his drum kit – becomes a nestling, an offspring of undefined fantasies which, coming to grips with a well discernible enthusiastic quest for self-government, shows this music as a continuous metaphor of unrestricted social behaviour. Butcher’s enormous talent shines throughout: one can already value his unbelievable timbral transfigurations among the deepest innovations in the recent history of the saxophone. Smith looks happier when his guitar sounds more like an eastern percussion instrument than a regular six-stringed extension: in this sense, his interplay with Stevens’ morsels of changing frameworks reaches several intense varieties of articulation. Metcalfe’s flute in “Peripheral vision” is astonishingly discursive and it’s just a pity that this CD does not include more of his playing.
SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE – Biosystem (Psi)
This CD brings back to light an important Incus LP originally issued in 1977, adding 35 minutes of previously unreleased music rescued by Martin Davidson, who also gave the names to the resulting new tracks. The lineup consisted of John Stevens (percussion, cornet), Nigel Coombes (violin), Roger Smith (guitar) and Colin Wood (cello). It’s very clear, as one can guess from the absence of horns and reeds, that this incarnation of SME was “high-register oriented”, with Stevens only partially able (and probably not willing) to balance the uncontrollable urges of Coombes and Wood, who sound like not-so-quiet leaders of sorts. Smith is the most tangential player involved, but strangely enough his parts are maybe the few ones which sustain some kind of “definition”. So, what does this music sound like after almost 30 years? In the 70s, a decade that probably was the most open to artistic suggestions and tendencies of the last 50 years, it could have opened the minds of many adventurous listeners (while obviously still being destroyed on the Melody Maker). Today, fine-tuned ears are still able to appreciate the children-like enthusiasm of four musicians who start with a few scattered ideas, from there building a whole hill of “irregular” notes (or, if you prefer, deluxe sonic debris that often becomes very exciting), at times acting like a freakout version of a contemporary classical string trio augmented by Stevens’ indented drumming. On the other hand, I can’t really think of “Biosystem” as the highest available example of communicative interplay, since in many moments the four seem to be paying a little more attention to their own pretty nervous muse than to their partners. I am probablly wrong, but that’s how it’s perceived from this angle. What remains is a very important document of mostly euphoric helter-skelter improvisation played by an equally influential collective which, in this occasion, seems to be animated by an ultra-democratic leader, two exiles from a chamber ensemble trying to come to terms with their newly acquired freedom from the score and a reclusive gentleman who keeps playing his guitar softly even amidst tumultuous acoustic clangour. Evan Parker’s “precious stuff” definition in the liner notes is probably more derserved by the recently reissued “The topography of the lungs”, but this is mandatory listening anyway.
SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE – Frameworks (Emanem)
The importance of SME in the history of modern music should never be underappreciated, and Emanem’s ongoing effort to retrieve these archival gems from obscurity is, purely and simply, a cultural enhancement for everyone. These three improvisations were recorded in 1968, 1971 and 1973 respectively; John Stevens plays percussion and a small drumset throughout, adding voice in one of the pieces. “Familie sequence” is a quintet with Norma Winstone (voice), Kenny Wheeler (flugelhorn), Paul Rutherford (trombone) and Trevor Watts (bass clarinet) which starts with long notes accompanied by soft rolling-and-tumbling, to evolve in a fully fledged creature whose parts are totally interrelated and functional in the context of a surprisingly mature, austere kind of “free form minimalism”. The first section’s modal aroma introduces to the core essence of the piece, in which straightforward lines by Winstone and Wheeler mingle with Rutherford’s meticulous exploration of the trombone’s nuances, Watts and Stevens acting as neighbouring contrasting forces which drive the whole to a pre-cathartic state. This is interrupted by staccatos and glissandos that seem to divide the participants into different groups to finally reunite them in a collective implosion that still allows the instruments (voice included) to librate in the air in a last attempt of fading out of sight. “Quartet sequence” sees Stevens and Watts (this time on soprano sax) at work with Julie Tippett (voice, guitar) and the late Ron Herman (double bass). While I’ve never been a huge fan of Tippett’s vocal style, her performance here – devoid of any useless embellishment and complication – is almost perfect, her voice dialoguing with Watts’ soprano in several memorable exchanges over a complex intertwining of double bass and drums, a noteworthy contrapuntal research that yields large amounts of lyrical value and almost shamanic reiteration, not to mention some exquisite acoustic guitar playing. But the best has yet to come, in the shape of a deeply spiritual moment of communion between the parts, a siren chant-like segment in which the instrumental voices literally mourn their existence through our very soul in the most intense part of the entire album. The track ends with a “click” and a (splendid) “sustained” fragment, whose principles are too long to explain here: check the liners! “Flower” is a Stevens/Watts duo, defined as “hyper minimalist” by Martin Davidson, with a reason; sax and percussion play single notes that might or might not fall in the same place at the same moment, thus making the music sound like an old clock about to die and let all its springs out. Silence counts a lot here, even if the very last minutes introduce a change of sorts, Stevens’ cymbals shifting the piece towards a more elastic interaction between the two musicians.
SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE – Quintessence (Emanem)
“Quintessence” is a 2-CD set reissuing performances from 1973 and 1974 that were originally released in 1986 and, for the first time digitally, in 1997. It’s a consistent collection, containing what many define as one of the best documents ever of improvised music – the 1974 concert at the ICA theatre by John Stevens, Evan Parker, Trevor Watts, Derek Bailey and Kent Carter – plus a clutch of interesting materials that, in typical fashion, range from the viscerally absorbing to the almost irritating, always stimulating a reaction from the listeners who can’t possibly remain in standstill mode when fronting this kind of impromptu expression. The ICA performance occupies the large part of the first disc, and is alone worth of the whole set. The interaction between reeds and strings is often phenomenal, the ability of the players to maintain single-minded lucidity amidst ruptures, outbursts and yells totally impressive. In the most “regulated” sections the quintet reaches Webernesque concentrated fragmentariness while maintaining a stunning cohesion throughout, Stevens hitting at the different parts of his instrument with elegant informality and genuine recklessness, Carter and Bailey pummelling, tickling and caressing the wood and the metal, Parker and Watts in reciprocal recognition, constant imitation, total abandon. Conjuring up words for music so dramatically intense is difficult to the level of pointlessness; a classic case of “let the sounds do the talking”. The second disc presents chronicles from the trio (same personnel minus Bailey and Parker) and the duo (Stevens and Watts). This is unmistakably a wholly dissimilar proposition, at times slightly weaker but still comprising passages that clock-punching musicians can only hope to play once or twice in a lifetime while, for artists of this calibre, this is just another beer at the pub. Stevens uses vocalizations – very much in a shaman-like approach – in the two versions of “Daa-Oom”, his interaction with Watts an acrid symbolism of earthly energies, and in “Rambunctious I”; be warned that if this sort of concoction is an unusual presence in your life, patience could be seriously tested. But a piece like the above mentioned “Rambunctious 1” features levels of interplay that most jazzbos will dream of, a fierce autonomy tasted with every morsel. As for other SME releases on Emanem, an obligatory stop for those who are serious in studying the laws of free playing.
SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE & ORCHESTRA – Trio & triangle (Emanem)
This CD contains material from 1978 and 1981, recorded in Newcastle-upon-Tyne and London respectively. The older music comes from a cassette of not extraordinary sound quality, which Martin Davidson managed to clean up until suitability for publication, apparently the only available recording of an excellent improvisation by John Stevens (cornet, percussion, voice), Nigel Coombes (violin) and Roger Smith (guitar). Indeed it would have been a pity not being able to benefit from the umpteenth display of shared receptivity by these semi-utopian philosophers. No matter how resonant the hall was, who cares about the slight distortion of the tape: what emerges from the Newcastle segments is the sort of open playing of which everything can be said except that it sounds evil tempered, the players thoroughly engaged with the eagerness of communicating what’s inside their personas, the instruments becoming the connection between a constructive agitation from within and an audience receiving succulent fruits of unconventional resourcefulness, kind of a soundtrack for a nocturnal apparition instantly turning into concrete trouble. The tranquil side of the trio is magnificently embodied by “Reciprocal”, where every note seems to be forced out of a hole of shyness in an almost surreptitious exploration of the quiet regions of dynamics. The Orchestra appears in two of the three London tracks, with the addition of Maggie Nicols, John Corbett, Alan Tomlinson, Paul Rutherford, Lol Coxhill, Trevor Watts and, exclusively in one piece, Howard Riley. Apart from the “Static” fragment, five minutes and thirty seconds of subdued acknowledgement of a superior force leading the inspired ensemble, “Triangle” (whose concept is clearly explained in the liners) is the most significant work on offer, a complex assortment of timbres and information explaining the theory according to which the best musicians are the ones who conscientiously listen to what surrounds them rather than just imposing an instrumental attitude.
SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE – Bare essentials (Emanem)
The 1972-73 period of SME was characterized by its diminution to a duo – John Stevens and Trevor Watts – who explored the dynamics of drums and saxophone in unequal settings, protracted improvisations in which attention-grabbing interplay definitely constitutes a majority in opposition to the scarcity of uninteresting occurrences. Luckily, Watts had the excellent idea of using an early version of cassette recorder at that moment, and it’s exactly from those tapes – digitally cleaned up by Martin Davidson so that the sound quality is more than adequate – that “Bare essentials” was born. The two discs are an ode to the persuasiveness of a man’s voice, either directly or through an instrument; both artists complement in fact their disquisitions with yelps and howls, and Stevens’ cornet is often the co-protagonist of memorable duets with the saxophonist’s wailing soprano, music that sounds at one and the same time unassuming and extraordinarily feverish, ostentatiousness of technical trickery comprehensively defeated, abolished. As appropriately pointed out by Davidson in the liners, the most striking facet of this embodiment of SME is the conversational aspect of the large part of the material; another, I would like to add, is Trevor Watts’ commendable attitude in following his own inside rhythm while conscientiously listening to Stevens’ ideas, an atypical feature to be found in reed players, who frequently tend to enforce a measure of verboseness on the overall flow. This causes the intercourse to appear both dappled and severe to these ears, the accents falling on judicious choices of notes rather than potential offensiveness – which is always a risk, even for the listeners – deriving from wrong mind-sets and badly addressed rage and sorrow. In that sense, the 32-minute “For Phil” – dedicated to drummer Phil Seamen in the day of his death – is an ideal illustration of how an elegy should be, as a rare demonstration of sorrowful aim-sharing as one can get.
PANAGIOTIS SPOULOS – Sickend (a blend) (Phase!)
After reading the cover notes I was ready for a noise marathon in the best Merzbow tradition but Spoulos quite surprised me with about 46 minutes of studio dabbling which does contain noise, feedback, electric hum, clicking and all you need from the genre – only, these spurts are conveniently alternated to quieter settings where you can almost see the man in his room, setting levels and twiddling knobs while the outside people lead their normal life. Besides abstract particles and amplified rusty tools, this Greek artist is also pretty good at droning; working with modified voices or guitar manipulations, Spoulos arrives at a nice magnetic surcharge, half buried in shadows of distortion and flanging cloudbanks. In an excellent finale, an out of tune radio broadcasts deliciously mellow classical music accompanied by more feedback and noise. Rough material – but deserving praise.
JESSE STACKEN – That That (Fresh Sound New Talent)
A piano trio led by Jesse Stacken – whose lyrical soul is evident since the very first chords that he articulates on the keyboard – and featuring an extremely competent bassist in Eivind Opsvik (from Norway) and a sensitive drummer named Jeff Davis. I don’t remember of having ever met these artists before, yet enjoying their crystal-clear playing was a complete pleasure. Formed in 2005, the group performs a nice blend of jazz-oriented compositions where improvisational spurts and a very conscious interplay are fundamental cards. The defining element of this album is a kind of veiled elegance often bordering on melancholy, both attributes quite apparent behind the façade of a complex metre or amidst some dissonant dissertation. I was reminded of certain old ECM chapters still to be liked on these shores, such as the works by the John Abercrombie Quartet circa “M” (of course minus the guitar); in fact, Stacken made me think to Richie Beirach’s approach more than once. But, I stress, the whole trio is a treat for the ears, despite their choice of not overly trespassing the limits of well-conceived and executed architectural structures. Brilliant music that will surely keep good company for many evenings to come, without the pretence of being remembered as a milestone yet guaranteeing almost one hour of detachment from the preoccupations of technical contortionism.
MOE! STAIANO’S MOE!KESTRA! – 2 rooms of uranium inside 83 markers: conducted improvisations vol. II (Edgetone)
Born as a percussionist specialized in “found, given and stolen” objects, Moe! Staiano is one of the most idiosyncratic American composers in action nowadays. Proudly avoiding any study of musical theory, he writes textual and graphic scores that are subsequently handed to variously shaped ensembles, whose numerical range goes from “between 15 and 45 players – sometime more, sometime less” and which include several improvisers belonging to the cream of this scene (among the names here: Carla Kihlstedt, Rent Romus, Matt Davignon, Bob Marsh). Whatever the combination, this is the Moe!Kestra! in spirit and flesh. The two tracks, lasting circa 10 and 40 minutes respectively, were recorded in Oakland in 2003 and 2004 as a part of a benefit show to raise awareness about the health and environmental effects of depleted uranium weaponry used in Iraq and Afghanistan by the US military. The first is a pretty loud quasi-instant improvisation, except for some notated sketches passed by the boss to the rather worried participants right before the start (“play it as best as you can” being the composer’s single recommendation). The music is very lively and full of twists, with unbelievable vocal efforts by Kihlstedt, who’s better known as a violinist yet sounds like her instrument even when vocalizing. But the most complex work is “Piece No.11, subtitled “two orchestras in separate rooms”, a self-explanatory experiment in which the deviser subdivided the instrumentalists by placing them in different sections of the exhibition venue and running in the aisles to conduct the whole (while also bumping upon the people who were allowed to walk around during the execution). Repeated moments of mayhem, improbable (de)synchronizations, clanging chords, shouting voices and percussive devastation are barely a few of the hundreds of entertaining occurrences defining this (a-hem) score as quite interesting, not only as an oddity but with a precise artistic value.
TASOS STAMOU – Infant (Editions_Zero)
One of those niceties that Nicolas Malevitsis’ label(s) spits out with good regularity, “Infant” was wholly played with toys and toy instruments. Many people have tried this before, some with a degree of success, the large part with horrible results. Stamou is quite acute in what he does, revealing a discerning compositional nose, essentially privileging dissonance yet also maintaining a “melodic” attitude that carries him to several moments of nearly perfect balance among the parts. Be it an absurd (pun intended) keyboard melody or a clash of barely working circuits, this stuff – in various instances – sounds almost as serious music. Or is it? The fact is, I found myself absorbed, more than amused, by certain vapours of spectral electronic emissions that invade the air every once in a while. Of course, the whole changes for the worse when cheap rhythms and stupid songs make their appearance, but luckily they last only for the duration of a perplexed smile. Taken as a curiosity, this record – not the least in consideration of its very nice sleeve artwork – could be considered as a cross between a collector’s item and a present for your children, if you got any. Don’t be surprised if – a few years from now – they will poison your beer, though.
BURKHARD STANGL / HANNES LOESCHEL / JOSEF NOVOTNY / JOHANNES NOVOHRADSKY – Ereb Afrik (Löwenhertz)
The composition “Ereb Afrik”, by Burkhard Stangl, is scored for two pianos and a single player, namely Hannes Löschel, to whom it’s dedicated. In the first of the two CDs of this set, the Austrian pianist/composer plays a great version of the piece, alternating charming Feldmanesque softness and more controversial explorations of the various quarters of the instruments, often used as a percussion (including their pedals); meanwhile, Novotny deals with “sound projection”, taking bits and parts and modifying their essence. Novotny and Löschel are joined by Stangl himself (on guitar and electronics) in the second disc, where the trio reworks and expands the first version through stern improvisational skills and more dramatic treatments, giving the music an aleatory temperament that seldom allows the return to the calmer waters of the original; at the end of the record, each one of the members presents a personal short remix, Stangl’s version being the most engrossing. Johannes Novohradsky dealt with all the visuals, available both in the booklet and the data track of the first CD, giving his great contribution to an already commendable project.
BURKHARD STANGL / TAKU UNAMI – I was (Hibari)
Four versions of “I was” are contained in this album, the fourth and longest one having been recorded live in 2003. Accompanied by Unami on computer with objects (which translates in harsh sequential eruptions and unadulterated, no-frills but in the end “acceptable” grinding noise) Stangl performs unadorned reflections on guitars and contraguitar, making the detuning of his instruments sound like a necessity for our ears, which soon get used to disembodied chords and plucked harmonics whose weird complexion flashes across the speakers like a strange sexless entity gifted with all the knowledge of a zen monk. Sparse elucubrations – not quite at the subliminal level, always remaining audible in the distance – find their very meaning in a pretty calm, absorbing atmosphere, sort of a stained suspension among many interrogatives whose lack of solution is a source of pleasure rather than discontent.
STAPLERFAHRER – For Katharina (Earlabs)
Steffan De Turck – the man after Staplerfahrer – must be very trustful of his dedicatee’s taste, as in little less than 11 minutes he presents her with a full assortment of eruptive glitches, war zones, occasional repetitions and accumulations of blurred visuals that do not remind me of any specific comparison, being instead linked to a very personal outlook on the lands of noisy acousmatics. The four short tracks work surprisingly well, humble yet clearly functional in their extroverted fragmentation; Staplerfahrer succeeds in establishing a kind of impulse-responsive pleasure which will be surely appreciated by many listeners, including Katharina.
DAVE STAPLETON QUINTET – When life was in black and white (Red Eye)
Delegating the expressive contents of their playing to a kind of nostalgia which is evident even from the title, the members of DSQ – Jonny Bruce on trumpet, Paula Gardiner on bass, Elliott Bennett on drums and Marcin Wright on sax – follow leader pianist Dave Stapleton in a cycle of polite arrangements which owe some of their elegant beauty to the undisguised inspiration of the best pages of 70s British jazz, resonating with echoes of Zappa’s “Grand Wazoo” and a sparse, minimal old ECM atmosphere (one of the tracks is called “Manfred”). Everything is masterfully engaging, as Stapleton’s writing is permeated by a wry sadness which is even more noticeable if you listen to the CD during an autumnal afternoon; this is particularly true of pieces like “Images” and the title track – but all the music, including the final “Lazy blinker” with Paul Dunmall and Deri Roberts guesting, results as complacently heartwarming in its conscious sighing to the past.
DAVE STAPLETON QUINTET – The house always wins (Red Eye)
Pianist and composer Dave Stapleton loves to write music that’s firmly rooted in the 70s, yet manages to sound refreshingly welcome each and every time we approach it. In “The house always wins”, the Quintet deploys the talents of Paula Gardiner (bass), Elliott Bennett (drums), Jonny Bruce (trumpet) and Ben Waghorn (reeds), all of them fusing inquisitive assumptions and vivacious intersections with the leader’s keyboards in a light-hearted kind of jazz that, despite the evident technical expertise of the musicians, is certainly easy to the ears. This keeps any feeling of decadence or retrogression away, as there seems to be serious passion behind Stapleton’s tight arrangements, which include complex metres, hints to Corean fiestas (yes, I mean Chick), absorbing harmonies which could make fans of Mike Westbrook and Graham Collier happy (“Second life” is simply splendid in its autumnal melancholia) and sections that will have one thinking “Canterbury”: there’s a moment in the title track in which I was almost literally reminded of Egg. In the final selection, a slow blues called “Aquamarine”, Julie Tippetts lends her voice to confirm the band’s tendency to travel back to their origins. An apparent contradiction reveals instead the group’s forte: dealing with the past can produce excellent results without sounding stale, and DSQ are surely doing better things with this stuff than many avant-garde illiterates who believe in their ego-fueled visions but force us to change CD after ten minutes of unnerving boredom.
NIELS JØRGEN STEEN’S BEATKAPELL – The Åhus concert (Ayler)
According to label manager Jan Ström, this set from 1973 was caught more or less by chance, as he and his friends were attracted by the exciting vibe coming from the hall of the Åhus Folket’s Park (“a fantastic beat sound”) after having seen a couple of other concerts before. Talk about jazz hunger. Sure enough, this is the most obvious way to remember a special occasion: the tape hiss and the not exceptional quality of the audio source do not detract from the pleasure of listening to this ingenuous but splendidly executed music, preformed by a quintet including the leader on piano accompanied by Jesper Thilo (tenor sax, vocals), Torben Munk (guitar), Hugo Rasmussen (bass) and Ove Rex (drums). Don’t look for free-for-all blowing or improvisational anarchy here: we’re talking standards, and also pretty easy-going ones, such as Juan Tizol’s “Perdido”, which features an impromptu scat participation by Red Mitchell, who was in the audience and was enthused by the band’s performance. All you want from a competent, tight-sounding jazz combo is found: a warm sax tone, some diligent guitar solo, a touch of blues and the functionality of an educated rhythm section. The nominal boss comps with tasteful joy, remaining within the limits of elegance while evidently enjoying a good time – like the rest of the attendants, both on and off stage. A welcome pinch of retro happiness in Ayler’s discography.
BILLY STEIN – Hybrids (Barking Hoop)
Although he has been active on the new jazz scene for over 30 years, “Hybrids” is the debut CD by guitarist Billy Stein, who recorded this album with Reuben Radding on bass and Rashid Bakr on drums, both members of a circle that sees them playing with the likes of Cecil Taylor, Butch Morris and William Parker, among the others. One is instantly stricken by the utterly unprocessed, dark, fat neck-pickup sound of a guitar that’s played with humbleness and intelligence throughout. Stein is not afraid of submitting essential trial-and-error suggestions, exploring both chordal and linear dissonance amidst a challenging interplay from the rhythm section, only seldom returning home to a “theme” or a harmonic sequence that really sounds like no one else. This game of divergences brings a unique colour to the music, also enhanced by a knowledgeable use of the volume pedal, employed by Stein with parsimonious sensitiveness, and by the resonance of open strings even in the most complex positions, generating spurious harmonics that nicely contrast Radding’s low frequencies. All the tracks show the musicians’ will to put virtuosity aside to find instead a meeting point where technical adroitness is never questioned, but what really shines is the instinctive development of a sound which is cultured (Stein graduated from Hunter College and also has classical guitar experience) and, at the very same moment, raw enough to be accepted as pure intuitional language.
JASON STEIN’S LOCKSMITH ISIDORE – A calculus of loss (Clean Feed)
This trio’s peculiar denomination comes from Isidore Stein, Jason’s paternal grandfather who used to be a master locksmith in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan for over 30 years and didn’t trust the banks, keeping earnings stuffed in a sofa (he was right, by the way). Also rather uncommon is the group’s instrumentation which comprises the leader’s bass clarinet, Kevin Davis’ cello and Mike Pride’s percussion. Another intriguing factor is Jason Stein’s beginning as a rock-blues guitarist, subsequently shifting his love onto his current instrument after having met Eric Dolphy’s music, a great influence on his artistic vision. Locksmith Isidore can appear as based in some tradition one moment, swing and jazzy phrasing emerging from the cauldron of decontextualization, then switch to ferruginous EAI protuberances in the next (“Caroline and Sam” could very well be one of those slippery incidental meetings of scrape-and-scratch stillness and minimal melodic fragmentation). The playing is attentive, responsive on all fronts, never transcending to that semi-fetishist rigour that often prevents even gifted instrumentalists to express their timbral qualities in the name of a growingly abused concept of quietness. The conversational openings constantly remain under the sign of democracy, exacerbations of attitude and egotism not allowed; confrontations do happen, but are instantly directed towards a common goal, typically coincident with a non-deterioration of the musical virtues of the improvisations. Immediacy is not this ensemble’s forte: the almost reclusive character of the large part of the material (let’s exclude the short finale “J.H. 01”, a thoroughly lyrical signature if there was ever one) recalls Isidore’s obstinate tendency to hide money in the couch. In this record, the richness of particulars is equally ably disguised.
STEINBRÜCHEL – Circa (Line)
Soundtrack to a 2001 installation in Zürich, “Circa”‘s sounds are literally built from rain; the drops were later transformed into soft electronic materials, those very ones charging your hypnotical dimension, bringing out a sense of non-belonging for the whole disc duration. This Steinbrüchel work has a stalagmitic shape, as any event comes down from an imaginary dark blue ceiling, depositing itself on the ground to form a protruding reason for observation. His electronics are much more natural than the average; they are painstakingly planned but also bear a fabulously “unphilosophical” meaning – like if any element had a life of its own, casually yet perfectly intertwining with the other ones. Like in a giant hourglass, you can see any moment of “Circa” as a sand grain falling: rooted in a bigger design, this is timeless music that left out redundance and fakement to be x-rayed by listeners who prefer substance over style – and, ironically, at the end a style is what you have anyway.
STEINBRÜCHEL – Zwischen.Raum (Domizil) / -00 : Dedaih (Synchron)
Two mini-CD releases by one of the most interesting names in the field of sound installations based on the pairing of extreme frequencies. “Zwischen.Raum” starts adding little pieces of electronica, layering caressing nebula of resonating flows full of positive energies. Developing from an almost scary silence, the music goes from a state of pseudo casuality to a more complex interlocking of long drones and infinitely refracting phenomena, slowly building an engrossing shimmer of consequential events. “-00 : Dedaih” consists of four short pieces, again a sound installation to visuals by Brusa. Besides Steinbrüchel, the remix is in the knowledgeable hands of Frank Bretschneider, Richard Chartier and Stephan Mathieu. In this 12 minute work we have a harder contrast between highs and lows in an overall more fractured sound. Bleeps and small doses of digital distortion are conveniently used for an intimate analysis of the surrounding space, while the rumbling eruption of the final track could remind of Thomas Köner’s ice age immobility.
STEINBRÜCHEL – Skizzen (Bine Music)
Ralph Steinbrüchel’s latest is not only a confirmation of his talents as a sound carver but also a perfect introduction to his work for people who are not familiar with his aesthetics. In an imaginary translucent folder lay these short “sketches”, computer-generated pinholes through which iridescences and glowing flashes become a weightless, unburdened fusion of polychromatic axioms flitting around and generating an offspring of hissing hums, repetitive structures and crackling drops of bionic dew. Though the pieces are on the short side, there’s a perfect sense of continuity along them; the music sounds like a pictorial history of a yet-to-flourish strange plant, whose sinuosity is contrasted by the rigid scheme of the small corner where it has been put to grow. These elements of counterpoise make “Skizzen” an ever-so-balanced listening, certainly Steinbrüchel’s best proposition until this very moment, surely a prelude to even better things to come.
STEINBRÜCHEL – Opaque + Re (Room40)
This album was born to satisfy a commission by the Taktlos Festival in Zürich, which in 2003 asked Steinbrüchel a soundtrack usable as a quiet surrounding for their listening room. Our man recorded “Opaque”, a profound statement of mental quietness that opens this disc in typical style, its sounds pervading our psyche like a warm caress on the nape of our neck; then, he sent three different sound files of the piece to five fellow composers, asking them to (re)interpretate it according to their own sensitiveness, following certain guidelines through their respective sound sources: Chris Abrahams (piano) Ben Frost (processed feedback) Taylor Deupree (processed melody) Oren Ambarchi (guitar) and Toshiya Tsunoda (field recordings) achieve results ranging from the absolutely stunning (Frost, Ambarchi) to the very interesting (Deupree, Tsunoda) with only the Abrahams version sounding a little bit out of context but quite enjoyable nevertheless. The textural quality of the whole work fused with the undoubted individuality of the involved artists are the basics of a tightly structured, yet impressively radiant music, a necessary listen to understand at least part of the future of electronica.
STEINBRÜCHEL – Stage (Line)
Ralph Steinbrüchel’s computerized charm, an instantly recognizable style amidst the mostly nondescript population of today’s electronica, is gradually leading him to the same position that Brian Eno gained many years ago through his own output. On the other hand, the impressive frequency ecosystem revealed by this composer in each one of his works is quite stunning; its cause-effect relationship, in conjunction with its complexity of subtle nuances, is such that trying to use all of this with the same “ambient” goal would be totally pointless. These ten tracks, created by Steinbrüchel for an interactive dance performance, have all the necessary credentials to be considered among the best things that the Swiss laptopper has been fathering in recent years. The fascinating aura emanated by each piece soon becomes a necessary presence, corroborated by an eloquent elegance which levigates angles to the point of a nerve-rubbing calmness, finely tuned by the natural resonance of my listening environment. Yet, “Stage” is not only for connoisseurs but invites and seduces through its spectral fecundity, which balances deadpan subsonic activities with tenuous solar warmth in crystal-clear structures. In all this beauty, not a trace of presumption or coldness is to be found; this perfect elemental symmetry is Steinbrüchel’s trademark, which makes sure that his production remains in the high places of ear-pleasing sonic Darwinism.
STEINBRÜCHEL – Basis (Room40)
Ralph Steinbrüchel has systematically been a protagonist of the recent evolution in the field of computer music dealing with evolved ambient and interactive listening, fathering a series of aesthetically pleasing albums that have never failed to reach levels of intrigue and introspection. With “Basis” he has probably reached the pinnacle of his career to date, as this kind of sound art possesses a noticeable degree of pale-skinned fascination, undoubtedly surpassing the average production in this area. This time the Swiss manipulator worked on pre-existing sources (by Lawrence English, Ben Frost and Bernd Schurer) to generate his own soundscapes, delivering the originals from any residual harmonic and rhythmic component. From here, seven cuts of varying length – from 5 to 20 minutes – accompany the listeners in a long-distance walk through (mostly) brain-caressing streams and gradual developments of layered synthetic sounds, with just a modicum of granular dissonant difference met in selected tracks (“Interlude 2” being an example in that case). It amounts to over a hour of gorgeously resonating wavering, involuntary intersections and oscillating electronic drifts that, upon close scrutiny, reveal a myriad of disguised networks and shimmering lights while also allowing the receiver to undergo a constant treatment of hazy medium-to-low frequencies whose expansive capabilities manage to fill the surrounding ambience without additional effort on our side. Warm rays of instinctive self-consciousness that only require a prepared audience to be absorbed beyond the transparent grace of their appearance. Not more, not less, yet enough to define this CD as a masterpiece of static unfolding.
NICOLAI STEPHAN / ASMUS TIETCHENS / STEFAN FUNCK / GREGORY BUTTNER – Heizung Raum 318 (1000Fussler)
Here is something interesting, an idea that probably other artists have tried to put at work but certainly not with the depth and musical sense perceivable in this CD. It deals with the effects of a malfunctioning heating system in the room (that’s right, the 318) where the four participants have been meeting once a week for a long time to perform. As the apparatus in question not only doesn’t work properly, but it even whistles (!), what’s better than bringing on a microphone and record a few of these disturbances? On top of that, it looks like the different radiators influence their respective behaviours, thus a series of different combinations are obtained through the sheer rotation of selected knobs. The parties created seven tracks from these noises (whose original essence can be heard in the eighth and final track), their solid basis as sonic designers helpful to develop structures that make good use of cyclical creaks similar to feedback, low-frequency lamentations, purring drones and menacing reverberations. A subtle energy is released from a living organism that, undergoing various types of stimuli, reacts in ways that could be predictable or less. What’s striking since the very first listen is the peculiar elegance of these sounds, which seem to spring out of a single mind (it must be told that Asmus Tietchens is an obvious reference in this kind of treatment, and not just because he’s involved). It all feels like a reassuring presence, whirring whispers and on-and-off pulses whose timbral qualities explicit the soul of what is usually just a cold room, which is also the detached testimony of many years of almost clandestine manipulations by a bunch of forward-minded musicians.
NICK STEPHENS SEPTET – Live at The Plough Stockwell (Loose Torque)
Shame on me, for when yours truly received a copious batch of Loose Torque releases last year, he omitted to review this 2-CD set, which probably stands proudly among the label’s very best. Dedicated to the late saxophonist Jerry Underwood, this collection derives from four different concerts in 1989 and 1990. The musicians involved, depending on the performances, are Nick Stephens (double bass), Chris Biscoe (alto sax), Jerry Underwood (tenor sax), Jon Corbett (trumpet), Annie Whitehead (trombone), Manno Ventura (guitar), Brian Davison (drums), Alf Waite (trombone), Mark Sanders (drums), Paul Mason (alto sax). What strikes my attention at a preliminary glance is the nicety of some of the titles – how about “Just one Ornetto” and “Cunning Mingus”? – but when the lights go down and the curtains are raised, there is not too much to laugh at (except some scattered ironic quote) because the playing is absolutely first rate, every minute of it. Those who know better have already noticed that Stephens gathered a few major instrumental voices of the English jazz community; you gotta love Chris Biscoe’s entanglements, and one can literally spell the difference between “Annie Whitehead” and a depressing jazz labourer when listening to the trombone in “Fayzed”, whose body plumps and strolls with the grace of a dancing elephant, and “No me degas nada”, a vortex of African patterns and unchained screaming built over Ventura’s surprisingly minimal yet highly energizing arpeggios and double stops. The guitarist’s jangling accompaniment launches the opening track in the second CD, a half-reggae-half-Tippett beauty called “West 11″ which made me want to leave my chair, open the window to the sun of a wonderfully atypical November morning and intimately rejoice. Hey, that Waite could throw a gauntlet down to Whitehead in terms of trombone’s muscle by the way, but Corbett wins the soloists’ contest here with a marriage-breaking sproutsy ramble whose blastitude degree nears eleven. What else? The bass solo in “One for Ron/Cunning Mingus”, atonal sapience and digital independence fighting to the extreme in between poignant thematic memories and Waka-Jawakian tortuousities. Lots of intelligent, modern-sounding swing. The rock-ish attitude of “In off”, ostinato riffing and knife-grinding virtuosity holding hands. Who cares about luscious production and crystalline audio when the music is so joyfully good? Don’t sleep like I did, don’t miss this great album.
JOEL STERN / MATT DAVIS – Small industry (L’innomable)
Another fine example of economy of means applied to a wealth of ideas, “Small industry” pairs Joel Stern’s electronic and concrete sources with Matt Davis’ unconventional trumpet approach. Like currents flowing through extra-thin wires, frequencies and feedback mix with “real” sounds in a chain of reactions forwarding an almost scary purity. Interferent pitches project their graphics on the surrounding walls, bouncing back to my ears with enhanced resolution and understated mutability. Stern and Davis, fine sound chisellers that they are, observe with due detachment, knowing for sure their methodic cellular solution will fuse everything in a boiling blur. In this clever-minded meeting, bombast is certainly not necessary.
JOHN STEVENS QUARTET – New cool (Emanem)
In the right hands, jazz can transform its essential nature in a form of unrelenting daydreaming, therefore avoiding the risk of losing its immaculateness under the laws of that pillular rootedness which often standardizes the playing, handpicking blueprints from the tree of boredom. When John Stevens’ group refreshes intentions that too often are handcuffed by sterile codes, their well addressed energy becomes the most attractive feature of the whole acoustic flow; the interaction between Byron Wallen (trumpet, flugelhorn), Ed Jones (soprano and tenor sax) and the finely honed yet flamingly hearty rhythmic terminology of Stevens and bassist Gary Crosby is akin to a brilliant conversation among four masters. The leader’s hurdling drumming is still criminally undersung, as John’s inventiveness on his set rejoins his passionate hunt for new rules to be subverted – but never forgetting his erudite approach.
JESSE STEWART – Music for found objects (C3R)
A pleasing surprise comes from this deceptively unassuming CD by Jesse Stewart, whose areas of interest deal with the creation of fascinating timbral shades via the engineering and percussion of found materials. Stewart recorded nine tracks, which he organized in three major “elemental cathegories” – water, metal and stone – using a vast range of self-made instruments that he’s able to control until they emit sounds that are interesting at worst, and very beautiful in some instance. The most fulgid example in this sense is “Hand to blade”, a great piece based on his fingers tapping over a circular saw blade, a process – says Stewart – that is both painful and explorative of the limitations of the instrument and, in this case, of human resistence to hurting. But the beautiful gong-like resonance of this track won’t make you think to pain, rather to something like self-control and management of nervous reactions. Other notable moments see Stewart hammering canoe paddles with mallets (with excellent precision, one would say) in a pseudo-Gamelan setting, or filling big shells with water in order for them to gurgle and murmur very nicely. Rolling mechanisms, rattling stones and metal bars are at the basis of the remaining tracks, each one shining of a straightforward attractiveness that, considering the album as a whole, gives Jesse Stewart’s music a hint of seriousness, clearly discernible under the apparent simplicity of his methods. Highly recommended ear-cleansing, likely to be appreciated by fans of sound sculpture and installations.
IAIN STEWART / KEITH BERRY – 58° North (Self Release)
Heaven knows how long one would like to remain alone in front of the sea at sunset, contemplating the rippling magnificence of the water kissed by those oblique rays, the eyes full of that hypnotic shimmering. It’s probably one of life’s most intense sensations. “58° North” uses this kind of imagery for about 24 minutes of dazzling immobile sheen, wonderfully captured by the camera of Iain Stewart, who created a splendid complement to those rare moments where silent consciousness finally finds the courage to knock at our brain’s door to introduce itself. Also comprised in this heart-shattering film are heavily clouded skies, grey encounters between horizon and sense of doubt, peculiar natural openings with shot-from-below water droplets gleaming like tiny shooting stars. Everything is underlined by a masterful soundtrack by Keith Berry, whose sources are slowed down by the quicksand of eternity, which swallows every refraction and assimilates it in a dark chamber of unconfessed emotions. Berry works with static, almost immutable tapestries that change – again, s-l-o-w-l-y – according to the games of shadows and lights conceived by Stewart. One seems to perceive marine sounds, wind and seagulls at one point, and they’re probably looped somewhere in there. But it all resounds damn near to those wordless songs of sorrowful loneliness that childhood taught us by the dozen. They’re still the best music that I’ve ever heard.
STIMULUS – Untitled landscapes one (ICR)
Stimulus are a somewhat mysterious group whose website contains scarce information on the artists but includes at least a few lines about a clutch of extremely limited releases, this being an official re-edition of one of them (the previous ones were generated in scarce quantities of copies: 13, 23 – get the picture?). If you, like this cynical observer, are convinced that dronescaping is running on fumes, here’s a welcome station to find something useful to grant the genre a couple of additional chances and start the trip again. This music was made with piano, organ, electric guitar, bass, trombone, cymbals, drum machine, shortwave radio, laptop and what else I can’t figure out. Not only drone-based, it roars and growls splendidly: think of a hybrid of Organum and Jonathan Coleclough with a pinch of Howard Stelzer, add a little quantity of “extraneous presences” (is it me or there is someone talking amidst the amassed sonic layers?) and you’re done, ready to be rendered slave to the mother rumble. The mix is as “clear” as a translucent slab due to the large number of sources, yet we can distinguish the wheeze and the pant, the gnarl and the grit, and it all sounds celestial more often than not. Somehow I was also reminded of Richard Skelton’s lamentations, with a dose of added violence replacing his melancholic moods. True, these creations might vaguely recall famous sonic forms, yet the satisfaction that they cause is uniquely physical and much appreciated. A great album under any magnification of my inner microscope.
PETE STOLLERY – Un son peut en cacher un autre (Empreintes DIGITALes)
Aberdeen, Scotland is the base of composer Pete Stollery, who in this audio DVD shows great skill and a well evident “human touch” which distinguishes his music from the many acousmatic artifacts that, in their complexity, disguise a lack of ideas amidst bell-and-whistle techniques. These seven tracks plunge the listener in a system of sonic interdependency where events happen in spurts and consecutive evolutions, mainly through timbral interactions that cause natural environments and peculiar phenomena to morph into something that is completely unrecognizable. Stollery generates composites of modified informations, displacing our aural perspective by exchanging roles and rules, adjusting the genetics of the primary sources through an almost debilitating work of aggregation and disintegration. What is missing – and this must be intended as a compliment – is the brutality that often characterizes the most cerebral electroacoustic patchworks: no sudden explosions, no theatrics, no screaming. We are allowed to enjoy a trip through agitation without losing control, unexpected twists and contradicting alterations all parts of a mechanism that uses the analysis of the matter as a compositional basis. To summarize it all, we’re not in presence of an overstressing kind of music, rather led into vast areas of thought that always have room for intelligent stimulation and satisfying colour. Being this my first meeting with Stollery’s sound, I can’t help but praise his outlook on the difficult art of acousmatics, a cauldron which too often causes loss of personality. Not in this case. “Un son peut en cacher un autre” is definitely a keeper.
CARL STONE – Nak Won (Sonore)
Many years have passed since I first listened to the (still wonderful) “Mom’s”, a record that helped my already attentive ears to open themselves to a new world of fabulous sounding colours. After several additional CDs and a few minutes of the title track beginning here, I detect the same Carl Stone “aura”, only masked into a kind of minimalism that is just apparent. Stone’s G3 Powerbook is the anima mundi of three pieces: “Nak Won” is 24 minutes of the same very few notes pronounced by the machine just like the same single word told by a million world citizens of various races and languages: at the end, there’s a giant cloud made of singular timbres, a swarming sensation still hovering around when everything’s over. There you come to fully appreciate the shorter “Kreutz”, much softer and lyrical, but always transcending to the very limit of deep listening. The final “Darul Kabap” is genuine powerbook real-time improvisation, crossing voices, samples and electronics, giving backbone to the rhythm of world’s heartbeat, mixing lots of strange idioms and ideas right from Carl’s head for the joy of our inner ear.
CARL STONE – Al-Noor (In Tone)
There is a special link between Carl Stone’s work and your reviewer. Compositions such as “Banteay Srey” or “Shing Kee” are, to this day, fundamental objects in my mental collection of positive sonic stimuli. The man hasn’t rested on his laurels, though; on the contrary, his material – which he distils through not frequent releases, and that’s a plus from here – is perennially a couple of steps ahead when compared to the large part of electroacoustic music published nowadays. The funny aspect of this, though, is that Stone does things that are apparently “easy”, and most of the times we find ourselves nodding rhythmically to the incessant incoming of elaborate patterns. It’s a minimalist approach in terms of constant addition to a same design, but certainly not when we figure out how many layers and occurrences are in there. The four episodes of Al-Noor are all significant in that sense. One of them – the initial title track, featuring a female singer intoning a heartrending Vietnamese chant “a cappella” – is a veritable masterstroke; the intensity reached by that lone voice is augmented by the composer’s knowledgeable treatment, pitch-shifting and morphing reverberation attributing an alien-ish harmonic content to what started as a simple monodic plaint, ending the whole in something that resembles a sacred ceremonial. Quite spectacular indeed. The subsequent pair of selections feature what’s rightly called a “dismantling and re-composition of global song and melody”, a main characteristic of Stone’s recent methods – perpetual beats, almost disco in certain occasions, alimenting a whirlwind of vocal segments and looped fragments that create an intricate language of phonemes which dazzles and intoxicates with each listen. The final 24-minute “L’Os ‘a Moelle” is another pleasurable coup de tete by the Californian, who takes a 60′s psychedelic guitar progression – deliciously basic and naïve – subjecting it to a progressive series of imperceptible modifications. Imperceptible? At the end, the simplicity has turned into a “rock-from-Mars” meets sci-fi meets Clockwork Orange patchwork where no element sounds like it was at the beginning. A sort of instrumental version of Alvin Lucier’s “I am sitting in a room”, if you will. Tentative descriptions of particles and snippets that define a classic destabilizing jewel. Not to be missed.
CARL STONE – Woo Lae Oak (Unseen Worlds)
Woo Lae Oak is a restaurant in Soho which Carl Stone, as per customary attitude, utilized to baptize his debut album, first released in 1981 and now reissued by the label who retrieves forgotten gems from absent memories. This will be a surprising discovery for those – like this reviewer – who hadn’t heard the record when it came out. The composer used only two colours, a suspended violin tremolo whose harmony never resolves and a couple of notes emitted by a glass bottle blown over its top, but the treatment applied on them is perfect for the scope. On a superficial listen, the music sounds rather simple; in truth, the final result of this process of “layering, tape loops, changes of speed, no filtering” asks for different kinds of participation: active, or not. One either goes with the flow, being gradually overwhelmed by the progressively amorphous resonances of adjacent tones and superimposed parts, or just treats the whole as an ear-caressing presence, utilizing the minimal electroacoustic tapestry as a sheer complement for ordinary home activities. Alan Rich’s liners perfectly describe the listening process: “we are drawn to it, and we invent our own melodic imagination over the flat surface the composer provides”. Only, it’s not really flat, rather a rippled ocean of suggestive undulations and repercussions on the auricular membranes. Stone was already looking ahead, towards an imaginary neighbourhood where other restaurants would serve masterful sonic food. This bread-and-butter start was more than delicious, though.
STORMHAT – Vindspejl (Cohort)
Amidst an abundant batch of useless, trash bin-destined electronica discs that I had to listen to in recent months, this CD by Danish sound artist Peter Bach Nicolaisen (an associate of the Krabbesholm School of Art and Architecture), which comes in a limited edition of 100 copies in orange rice paper, truly stands out as an intelligently conceived product, featuring a nicely biotic geometry of synthetic emissions, polite disturbances and field recordings which seem tailor made for Stormhat’s general artistic concept. Cohort’s boss John Gore writes that sometimes “Vindspejl” might recall early ambient albums by Brian Eno, “On Land” in particular; I agree only on a fraction of this affirmation, that relative to some of the chiaroscuro strokes of a track like “The darkness surrounding the place”. Everything else is all Nicolaisen: a concoction of brilliant glow and organic life made even more appealing by gentle kisses of frail indecision and pale colours. The whole sounds fresh, profound and technically advanced; in my book, Stormhat is one of the names to follow in this area from now on.
FREDY STUDER / AMI YOSHIDA – Duos 21-27 (For 4 Ears)
These seven duos are a pretty impressive demonstration of how sometimes a voice and/or an instrument can become a transcendental link to that undetectable engine that silently agitates our vital force since the very beginning. There are many highlight moments where the unbelievable versatility of Yoshida’s expressive capabilities threatens to displace the perception of the conversation, as she becomes virtually fused with Studer’s suspended games of wrist and intelligence; the Swiss percussionist rubs cymbals and skins with delicate sapience but is also able to raise scary rumbles whose power is felt under my feet while I’m listening. Both artists work at the extreme fringes of their sensibility, transforming material acts into imploded unorthodoxy; their manipulation of stridency and sweetness is an unconventional phenomenon we’d better not overlook when thinking about the best improvised music we can hear these days.
SUDDEN INFANT / BILL KOULIGAS – Sudden Infant / Bill Kouligas (Absurd)
This is a specimen of the art of noise that I liked very much: quite ironic, often violent, overall well constructed; let’s just say “operational” (well, the first track is built upon deformed burps and groans, but what the hell…) and, in a way, also leaving some food for thought after the dust has settled down. Divided into two “sides” of five tracks each, the CDR presents live recordings pulsating from the high energy brought by the artists’ brain-shattering merchandise. Sudden Infant’s declarations are more oriented towards a skip-and-bite approach that makes great use of samples, tapes and turntabling (…and a music box at the very end…) to launch a convincing sonic guerilla that will leave your ears in flames. Kouligas is a little more “peaceful” – the proportion is approximately like hand grenades amidst bazookas – preferring to expand his sounds around slightly more comprehensible, less mind-churning areas (protect yourselves at all times, though…). He also presents my favourite track of the whole CD, “No winds blow”, an inauspicious nocturnal corona of frequencies that seems to have been recorded in the aftermath of Chernobyl’s nuclear tragedy. As lateral and extraterritorial as you can imagine, this music is a good antidote against those means of non-communication called “useless words”. Play it at the risk of losing your residual social contacts.
TAKU SUGIMOTO – Music for cymbal (Cut)
In “Music for cymbal” Jason Kahn maintains a total command of percussive dynamics, bestowing all the due significance to this piece by Taku Sugimoto. As the title suggests, only an amplified cymbal was used in this study of broken silence; the composer handed the score to Kahn only after hearing the recorded sounds that Jason had the intention of applying. It is a sort of laconic gestural poetry, an intense humbleness manifesting itself through weak lights and a blurring polarization of those energies born from silence itself and from the wonderful harmonics elicited by Jason’s gentle wrist work. Not an ounce of uselessness here: the cymbal vibration is utterly self-sufficient to feed the best intentions of both composer and performer, while transforming sheer motions into an involving mysterious prodigy where figures disappear only to be replaced, with the passage of time, by continuously changing, uncatchable auras.
TAKU SUGIMOTO / MASAFUMI EZAKI / TAKU UNAMI – Trio at Offsite (Hibari)
You could never imagine that a trio playing guitar, trumpet and computer can produce what you should call an almost silent record. For sure, the Zen-like quality of the sound disposition and the many influences one can detect in this kind of art are a good demonstration of how important the use of space is in this music, often more than the notes themselves. Sugimoto, Ezaki and Unami take a few means and use them in a way so so rarefact and concise that you just need to hold your breath while listening; these sounds will mix perfectly with your heartbeat, the blood pressure, but also with the central heating going on and off – they are just particles of concrete life. A little hum, a buzz, breathing silently into the trumpet, few soft touches from various guitar parts; this artifact is the right environment for them.
TAKU SUGIMOTO / YASUO TOTSUKA / MATTIN – Training thoughts (w.m.o/r)
The moan of a subway train is all you get for the first moments of the record; its rolling faraway rumble mixes perfectly with the distant echoes of life coming from outside. Infinite whispers of almost total silence are rarely interrupted by single Sugimoto notes or by some electric hiss, while the above mentioned trains keep passing along with their memories. Barely audible feedback, changing according my head’s posture, tests my ears. Looks like when you enter someone’s room while he’s sleeping: the musicians are there, walking silently on their tiptoes; you can perceive their slow gestures, their will to preserve the frame of standstillness in which they operate.
UNCLE WOODY SULLENDER & KEVIN DAVIS – The tempest is over (Dead CEO)
I’ve been listening to thousands of records since I was a toddler, but this is probably the first time that a banjo and cello duet graces my ever-expecting ears…wait, maybe some Eugene Chadbourne vs Tom Cora folly many years ago? Whatever. Sullender and Davis, who were artistically raised in the free music community of Chicago and have played with a vast range of artists including Pauline Oliveros, Maryanne Amacher and Fred Lonberg-Holm, waste no time in getting to the point. Their “style” is as spiky as barbed wire, but can also leave the impression of something that breaks norms when less expected, given that they exploit both silence and intricate counterpoints with the same “look-ma-no-hands” approach. Banjo is a difficult tool for improvisation, its timbre an obvious reminder of early jazz and bluegrass whichever way one looks at it; yet, the comparison with a more “classic” instrument like the cello is a pretty strong guarantee against that sense of inconclusiveness accompanying more fatuous timbral juxtapositions. In the splendidly titled “I can see humility”, sparse stinging harmonics and frictional arcoing lead to a fine demonstration of sensitive interplay where Sullender and Davis move towards territories where ghosts of Ry Cooder and Shankar can be glanced at from afar, but always maintaining that rough edge preventing their music from sounding too rounded and digestible.
RONNIE SUNDIN – Hägring (Antifrost)
The press notes of this CD talk about “mirages” and I truly believe this is a more than adequate description of Ronnie Sundin’s music. Although the impalpable, mesmerizing phantom reverberations present over the whole course of the record are sometimes broken by sudden crunches and sick discharges, the Malmö-based composer follows paths of forgotten memories and unquiet sleeps, letting us have just a small fraction of a glimpse of “what could be following” after discarding pulse and “regular” structures in favour of thick strata of metallic nothingness and concrete ruins in an abandoned factory. This sort of aural trip is also finely composed: the sonic events suceed in perfect correlation, there is no room for anything to shine while murmuring frequency rumbles expand the altered state of our perceptivity during immobile reminiscences worthy of Mirror or Brent Gutzeit. All in all, “Hägring” is punctuated with mastery touches of decaying sounds; without being modernist at all costs, Ronnie Sundin has given us the gift of ethereal detachment from false beauty. Let these manifestations take their place around you, see what strange light they’re emitting, listen to what those mirages have to teach.
{{{SUNSET}}} – Bright blue dream (Autobus)
Strange things endlessly arrive on my desk, this being one of them. Bill Baird, previously unknown to yours truly, sent me this CD – his first after a series of tapes and CDRs – that begins with an obnoxious song (“Dear broken friend” – I almost decided not to continue because of that; do yourselves a favour and start from the second piece) but still presents surprises in the rest of the full hour that it lasts. Baird’s songwriting, defined “darkly humorous” on the internal leaflet (as Stevie Wonder would have it, who am I to doubt?), makes good (ironic?) use of well-known stigmata of pop – hints were traced of Nicolette Larson, Eagles and Pink Floyd, including a quasi literal transcription of the riff of “Wish you were here” in the somnolent title track – and even some Americana tending to proper country. The whole in rigorous demo-quality mode (practically unintelligible lyrics, all but unclear equalization) and without any hope for stardom. The ear-pleasing stuff comes from the halfway point on: the songs become elongated mumbles bathed in eternal reverberation, to the extent that parts of the material might convince a label like Kranky to offer a chance to this man (“Moebius” does vaguely recall Stars Of The Lid in its initial mesmeric inertia). The fumes and the torpid exhalations are curiously welcome in the lone wolf’s room, usually pregnant with much more audacious music. Yet this is the third time that I’m listening to this. Can anybody give an explanation, except for the “you’re getting old, too good and essentially imbecile” one?
SUPERNATURAL HOT RUG AND NOT USED – Supernatural Hot Rug And Not Used (Em)
First of all I should mention Marc Bell’s truly fabulous cover artwork, which predisposes to a better reception of what’s on the disc. Then the music starts and you hardly believe that only “electric guitar, sort-of-bass, preamps, amplifiers, microphones, one big room overlooking Osaka” were used. Tim Olive and Bunsho Nisikawa perpetuate the impossibility of definition via an uninfluenced blend of labile ruthlessness that comprises plucking, whirring, clicking, humming, whistling, rustling and feedbacking, the whole akin to water gurgling in a sinkhole or to a conversation between a million mice, while a broken machine-like, post-grind silence is ruptured by a switch activating both dirty buzz and raggedy relaxation. SHRANU maximise the potential of every grain of vibration, repairing what sounds broken without struggling for pleasure. Insubordination seems to be the appropriate choice for two scavengers which negate the access to conventional ways of listening by proposing a completely new one, in which noise has its own special method of indenting our certainties, all the while establishing a finely abnormal staying power. A sure keeper, among the best recent outings in this “genre”.
AKIO SUZUKI / DAVID TOOP – Breath taking (Confront)
Making innocent sounds comes so easy to David Toop and Akio Suzuki. Like preparing the table before dinner, this odd couple moves unassumingly in a sort of delicate demonstration of respect for the ears, using everything at their hands to dress the silence in front of the “Sound 323″ gallery’s audience. Stones, flutes, small percussives, toys – it all comes to a butterfly’s life span, short but full of mirable shades of colours. Akio and David not only listen to their sources and to themselves; they truly test the communication barrier through the air between, bringing the utmost importance upon apparently less than attentive gestures. These precious moments are like the mudpies children do when playing in front of the sea; erased by the day after, yet remaining in our memories when we’re worn out by growing up.
DAISUKE SUZUKI / BRENDAN WALLS – Aftertaste (Donovan’s Hands)
This is music made of twisted apathy and peripheral messages, a signal from two extremely talented composers – both coming from a collaboration with Andrew Chalk in previous fine records – who decided to expose their sounds almost stripped bare, at least on the deepest nerve transmission level. Working on electronics and tapes, Suzuki and Walls generate impressions and ghosts of a past elemental fury which is now decomposed and dismembered but – like a lizard’s tail still moving after being cut – is nevertheless able to surprise those who dare considering it a finished entity. The self-built machineries by the Australian add a touch of scary unpredictability, thus leading the sound into lands which Monos and Daniel Menche connoisseurs will surely find appealing. The unquiet placidity of “Aftertaste”, if listened at sufficient volume, will finally choke your sense of tranquillity.
STEVE SWELL / PERRY ROBINSON – Invisible cities (Drimala)
Steve Swell’s trombone and Perry Robinson’s clarinet surely know no fences; theirs is a fibrous improvisation going for the gusto without need to cut through crusty sugar. Like the two gushers they prove themselves to be, these guys itinerate around melodies like if absurdity has suddenly become law. Chips of phrases, chattering of strange animals, ironic arguments and fiendish counterpoints are what you get while the two gentlemen walk roadside; even if Steve and Perry are well rooted in jazz they find a way to surprise, like in “Children’s song” – the only really composed track here – a cross between Hanns Eisler and some of Frank Zappa’s “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” horn scoring. “Invisible cities” is full of ideas, intelligent and impeccably executed, sounding like a series of punchlines rather than a sketchbook.
PRESTON ARI SWIRNOFF – Maariv (Last Visible Dog)
This record won’t reveal its niceties if listened via headphones, as it’s almost completely based on the superimposition of waves and frequencies. We all know what this means: get a roof and play loud enough. Swirnoff conceived a quartet of pieces, recording the instruments in his “large living room”. He quotes minimalism and Ligeti as influences, yet the tracks directly referring to those names sound dissimilar: “For piano and electronics” recalls Andrew Liles’ “The dying submariner”, the reverberations of an upright piano slowly swallowed by natural decaying dissonance and ectoplasm-like emissions. “For a room full of organs” is achingly atonal, like if an elephant decided to take organ lessons from a mentally altered Charlemagne Palestine, chords of 137 notes or so all over the place . A little more regular, “For electric guitar” is a tape-generated gamelan of superimposed string sequences by Ilya Monosov, not unforgettable indeed, and the conclusive “For four tape machines” is the track that mostly sounds as musique concrete of the whole album – the composer defines it as “a quartet of rolling trains” – but instead was made through variable speed recorders, tube amplifiers and delay/echo. At only 31 minutes of length, this CD features an acceptable level of low-budget inventiveness in a handful of fascinating combinations. Don’t forget the headphone veto, otherwise everything will change to worse.
SWISSAIR – Hermafroditit (N & B Research Digest)
Just for the curious, here’s a soundtrack from the early 80s for a 23-minute experimental movie by a collective of Finnish youngsters (including Anton Nikkilä, reviewed elsewhere in this issue) that performed scarcely, rehearsed less and recorded on cheap tapes keeping in mind “This Heat, Cabaret Voltaire, Metal Box-era PIL, The Residents and others”. I must say that this kind of naïve experimentation from kids wanting to sound “different” is always considered with a benevolent ear in this house, because – of course – it reminds of my own bedroom activities with a couple of friends and mum’s dropped-jaw-cum-stunned-look when she tried to get a grip on what was happening while performing her housekeeper’s duties. Basically, this is amateurish avant-garde that sounds fresh, oddly ear-catching, a despoiled variety of minimalism appearing honest in its total absence of trendy poses. Warts and all indeed, and everything hisses like an espresso machine.
DAWID SZCZESNY – Slow beetroot/Stapes I-III [(1.8)sec]
A very pleasant – albeit short – listening experience arrives all the way from Wroclaw, Poland. It’s an extremely gentle, sparsely textured music that’s basically built on short loops blemished by delicately crunchy effects, sort of a mixture of Eno, Taylor Deupree and Christopher Willits synthesized into delicious candies which sound like if they were slowly crumbled by fingers wearing contact microphones. This 3-inch CD is opened by “Slow beetroot”, where a guitar played by Dawid Bargenda would like to caress us with emotional arpeggios but it’s somehow limited by its very shyness, remaining anchored to the basic harmonic embryo over and over. The three movements of “Stapes” continue Szczesny’s search for peaceful sites in slightly sunny, desolated landscapes, loops and glitches acting as a disfigurement of linearity but also constituting the translation of a deep melancholy into beautiful crystals of detachment from pain.
TAIJI POLE – Taiji Pole (High Mayhem)
Good psychedelic noise with hypnotic allusions and lots of changes. And it all comes from just a trio: Taiji Pole are in fact Dino J.A.Deane, Carlos Santistevan and Matt Deason. Three main instruments (vertical flute, vertical bass and horizontal bass, of all things) whose signal is fed to an array of preamps, amps, pedals, equalizers and filters. I suppose that there’s a lot of real-time sampling, controlling and manipulation involved in the process. Apart from a short silent intermission, the record is made of two long tracks, one live and the other in the studio. In general, the music unfolds pretty gradually, almost inaudibly at the beginning of the CD, adding layer upon layer of shifting multicolour fumes scarred by saturated amplification and overdriven dissonances. Several points of almost orgasmic climax are reached over the course of about 72 minutes and I don’t recall a single moment of distraction; on the contrary, the massive movements of this strange beast keep a nice company even at its harshest. The sonic complexities of this band might gratify and probably wake up those who still believe that purple haze is in their brains. But remember: no Stratocasters here.
YUJI TAKAHASHI – Atak 006: Yuji Takahashi (Atak)
Born in 1938, Takahashi has really seen and done everything. A long-time collaborator of Iannis Xenakis, he also composed and played Asian popular music, is an accomplished classical pianist and has been partner to improvising artists such as Fred Frith, John Zorn, Yoshihide Otomo, Christian Marclay. His electroacoustic music, presented here in all his technicolour ironical geniality, is rooted in poetry and writing – lots of vocal fragments everywhere – and based upon regular sounds which the composer uses extensively, altering their original character to create unstable absurd symphonies. “GS-portrait” is made with snippets of Gertrude Stein texts on a kaleidoscopic timbral palette, halfway through a closet-generated world music and a crazed electronic machine, while “Kumorinzetsu260795″ couples computer and sampler in a mashed delirium whose significance is probably unknown to human beings (Takahashi once declared that he writes for intelligences to come after us…). “Und flieder in die sonne” was born as a Kafka-influenced piece and uses modified breathy voices to depict an impenetrable house of hazy mirrors and prohibited views; the final “Time”, written in 1963, was the music for an animation by Hiroshi Manabe – it still sounds pretty modern today.
YUJI TAKAHASHI / KEIICHIRO SHIBUYA / MARIA – Atak 007: Yuji Takahashi / Keiichiro Shibuya / Maria (Atak)
The fusion between two young-and-sweet laptop terrorists and a pretty famous classically trained pianist and composer yields an intriguing result in this strange but functional music, that in its broken intelligence sounds like a cross of Voice_Crack, Jason Kahn and text/sound art, the whole augmented by Takahashi’s piano phrasing, more or less rendered unrecognizable by Shibuya and Maria’s unorthodox behaviours. The music of “Dub Lilac” – this is the concert’s name – avoids the claustrophobic paranoia that’s easily detectable in many computer-based works by lightening up the tensions and the threatening aspects in favour of acceptable abrasiveness, open air and sudden multiplicities presented to the listener as a crazed yet controlled slide show of cybernetically-generated sonic combinations. At times, these particles form more regular shapes that sometimes become short-lived radiant loops, while a couple of synth improvisations by Shibuya made me think about Vangelis’s obscure, pre-soundtrack era album “Hypothesis”. But it’s actually Takahashi’s piano and voice that gift this record with a unique character, and his young partners are good in keeping these resources in good evidence during selected moments of the process.
AKI TAKASE PIANO QUINTET – Tarantella (Psi)
What to expect from a quintet led by a pianist whose effervescent candour almost outshines her technical ability, already a strong asset to start with? Much – very much – especially after finding Carla Bley, Eric Dolphy and Charlie Haden among the featured composers (the other tracks are by Takase herself and by Maurice Horsthuis, the ensemble’s violist). The remaining members are Tristan Honsinger (really fabulous here) on cello, Aleks Kolkowski on violin and Nobuyoshi Ino on bass. The quintet plays with controlled fury throughout; the leader’s own pieces are concoctions of percussive piano clusters and multicontrapuntal shapes alternated with delicate pragmatism to scratching, plucking and whirling of the strings, which follow a Stra-Webern-skian canon by mixing hop-and-jump lines and militant hatred for those good-sounding delicatessen that new chamber music always brings in abundance. My favourite moments come with the almost grotesque disfigurements of Carla Bley’s tunes, which – even remaining in a quasi-tonal environment – skip the beat of romanticism to transform the instrumental parts in clown-like grimaces distinguished by a ghoulish irony. And you just have to love the version of Haden’s “Song for Che”, which concludes the album in providential relief after the many harsh sections in which the string players battle for supremacy, their tones brash and incisive to the point of earache. Aki Takase is a leader who suggests rather than imposing her will and “Tarantella” sounds like a well balanced democracy that no despotism will be ever able to destroy; it’s a nourishment for your lack of absorbable dissonance, but is also educated enough for the immobile disciplinarians of the score-at-every-cost. You won’t be disappointed.
TOSHIAKI TAKAYASU – Nagare (Authorized Version)
Japanese visual/sound artist Takayasu places his minimally austere, coldly detached sonic miniatures in less than 40 minutes of your life without your presence or approval, but after he’s done your environment has been slightly modified so that those “presences” almost sound welcome, if not necessary. Muffled pulses, arrhythmical cells, unpredictable sequences of events crossing metallic shadows and electronic birdsongs are assembled in a series of phenomena that Toshiaki puts in relation with our listening psychology with clockwork precision but also with far-from-obsessive care for aesthetical principles. We’re finally adorned with garlands of tiny pleasures which break the tense intensity of expectation, accompanied by an enigmatic smile that’s typical of those scientists who know what they’re doing and could not care less about any hypothetical negative reaction.
TALIBAM! – Talibam! (Evolving Ear)
Don’t put yourselves at the wheel after listening to this, you could go crashing at the first crossroads. The trio of Matt Mottel (synthesizer) Kevin Shea (drums) and Ed Bear (baritone sax) is captured in its first “official” release – which, incidentally, sounds like a bootleg cassette – after several extremely limited CDR editions. Talibam! play a furiously reinvigorating, third-hand version of a genre fusing Last Exit, Naked City and Borbetomagus with a deranged variant of Wayne Horvitz featuring Keith Moon on drums (yes, what the press notes say about Shea’s drumming is true). Apopleptic blowouts where one can’t distinguish the sounds of the keyboards from the sax, mephistophelic outbursts of spasmodical rolling attacks and – amidst the total chaos – tentative melodic ostinatos leading to even greater mayhem are some of the ear-melting flames you’ll get from this record, which is lodged in a quartered LP cover complete with its correlative piece of broken vinyl.
HANS TAMMEN / CHRISTOPH IRMER – Oxide (Creative Sources)
Hans Tammen plays “endangered guitar”. After a while you figure out the reasons of this definition, as he literally tortures his instrument, the resulting timbres consequently mashed and mangled in further unpredictable sequences. Christoph Irmer is a “sui generis”, large-minded violinist who applies pigments of irretentive timbres in which wood particles and arcoed strings sound like an excuse to rebel against any kind of formal constriction. “Oxide” is one of the noisiest releases by Creative Sources: a post-progressive apology of belligerency between unfriendly emissions, a simulacrum of dialogue turning into a hard-fought tussle in many exciting sections. “Desultory” is all Fred Frith on acid and happy-go-lucky manipulation of dissipated violin in crumbling decomposition. “Breach” mixes interference and bird-in-a-rusty-cage desperation, a duet that could bring Paul Giger to tear all his hair up. “Fracture”, strangely enough, despite its name reminds yours truly of another King Crimson improvisation (“Providence”, from the “Red” album), if only for a general suspended atmosphere which later in the track becomes almost a trance, broken at last by toothsome exchanges of string contortions. If a hundred crackpot 4-track cassettes met in the eye of a cyclone, the result could near what’s heard in “Oxide”.
HANS TAMMEN / ALFRED 23 HARTH / CHRIS DAHLGREN / JAY ROSEN – Expedition (ESP)
“Expedition” was recorded live at New York’s Knitting Factory in 2001. The four protagonists hadn’t met previously, except the “German section” of Tammen (endangered guitar) and Harth (here on tenor sax and bass clarinet) who had jammed together in “some serious impro-camp” – as Mr. 23 would have it – yet never shared a “real” playing experience. The saxophonist was already in NY at that time, pursuing the collective vision of the Trio Viriditas with Wilber Morris and Kevin Norton, so linking the Tammen & Harth factors with bassist-cum-electronics Dahlgren and drummer Rosen didn’t reveal to be an insurmountable problem. The record is technically subdivided in ten tracks delivered in a one-flow performance whose frantic energy and tension level sets the music free from the remnants of whatever somnolence or syrupy frustration could eventually exist. The recording quality doesn’t cause us to shout “gloria in te domine”, but then again I don’t remember a single album taped at this venue where the sound is not raw and belligerent, almost bootleg-like. The fascinating mystique of sensitive improvisation is confirmed in its totality, several solo spots finding room amidst torrential exchanges that need no recurring to common-man swing to excite the audience (jeez, someone still gets excited with swing). Each voice is effectively distinguishable, contributing with unique colours and ideas; there is no necessity of framing a continuous series of spurts and discharges that, at times, become quite uneasy to mentally control. One has to listen carefully and ride the wave surfer-style, while enjoying the alternance of refined linearism and scintillating counter-striking: “Retained notions of speed and purpose”, for instance, juxtaposes a strict discussion between a semi-serene Harth and a less tranquil Tammen, who works wonders with a volume pedal and a pitch transposing device at the end of the piece. When Dahlgren and Rosen decide to join the party, it amounts to something that resembles the fuming and the boiling of sulphuric waters, the music’s potential pushed to the maximum. Great interplay is also to be enjoyed in “A long trip by the water”, beginning with the semblance of a metre (nice arco work by Dahlgren, by the way) over which A23H applies ever-changing sketches of anti-stereotypic intolerance, the terrorist-turned-guitar slinger remaining in jingling-harmonic mode for minutes before starting to execute abnormally quick repetitive phrases mixing Hans Reichel and Jeff Beck with fingers stuck in a high-voltage outlet. I wonder what the guitarist’s hair looked like at the finish of this section, which Rosen underlines with the hardest accompaniment since John Bonham in “Dazed and confused”. Throughout such moments, when the whole nears a cathartic state, all musicians accelerating and/or squealing and/or punching each other’s face with sneering blasts, one thinks of punk – a supposedly “violent” expression – and laughs hard. The same (I mean laughing hard) happened to this writer after reading an online review of this CD which, after an endless river of vacuous words, spelled the record as “boring”. The guy probably played this stuff as a next-room background while momma was serving him his ravioli, yet another wannabe looking to be hired at the post office while insisting in writing about things that he can’t comprehend. Five Euros to the first who guesses his nationality. Meanwhile, enjoy the expedition’s outcome – they came back healthy. Me, even healthier.
TAPE – Luminarium (Häpna)
The trio of Johann and Andreas Berthling plus Tomas Hallonsten, Tape are one of those units whose creations – at least in the case of “Luminarium”, their fourth release – sound excessively simplistic on a first listen then, after a few spins, fresh particulars and details are revealed until a whole picture of “composite naiveté” is designed. Despite the absence of an exhaustive list of instruments on the cover, guitars and keyboards are apparently essential in the economy of the music, the pieces erected on linear melodic sketches and uncomplicated harmonic progressions that could be appealing to fans of Hans-Joachim Roedelius or Tim Story. Mind you, though – no risks of New Age brewage around here (well, not that the above mentioned artists really belong to that cauldron). The typical repetitions of classic minimalism might evoke more pertinent comparisons, although we can’t pretend to find the same level of complexity of a vintage Riley or Glass in these miniatures. An arpeggio, for example, might be the initial idea; subsequently, upon that, the threesome build an entire concept by adding up tiny elements of disturbance – tapes, electronics – that save the song from sounding too elementary. The process is more or less reiterated throughout the CD, which constitutes a satisfying experience if we’re not looking for philosophical dogmas.
TARAB – Wind keeps even dust away (23Five)
Amidst an ever-increasing number of people masking their compositional incapacities under a “field-recordist” dress, Tarab is someone who does things for real, aiming at results that, in due time, could equal the ones achieved by the likes of Jonathan Coleclough and 23Five’s own Jim Haynes. Australian sound artist Eamon Sprod firmly believes that the world is undergoing a progressive decay, a process made easier by the overwhelmingly diffused products of substandard values deriving from contemporary “culture” (welcome aboard, Eamon). We had already met his soundscapes a while back, in a nice release on the Naturestrip label; now, “Wind keeps even dust away” comes as the natural prosecution of that earlier excursion. There isn’t anything really new under the sun, yet Sprod owns a distinctive ability in distancing himself a little bit from his creative use of environmental matters, broken glass, rusted metals and decomposed organic elements, just like a movie director chooses the right angles and lights for the scene he’s working on. Tarab – an Arabic word more or less defining the ecstatic enjoyment derived from the act of listening to music – deploys the various elements of the tracks according to a kind of natural architecture that makes every source manifest itself as the obvious consequence of a primal stimulus. And he’s uncannily good in furnishing the listeners with apparitions of sounds that the ears judge as materially existent while they’re instead downright illusions, obtained through Sprod’s sapient use of his “favourite things”. What seems to be a rainy storm is instead a juxtaposition of concrete, glass and laminates; the noise of distant traffic is almost lost in a roaring mass of incomprehensible frequencies. The final “Away” digs deep in our forgotten memories and brings them back to temporary life, until they fade to a definitive black. The record’s over, and we’re left pretty stunned, looking outside for what we’re missing inside.
TARKATAK – Eschgl Hel (Taalem)
This 22-minute piece is a rare remnant of dark ambient music as it was once intended to be; Tarkatak shows his good command of sound placement in an infusion of deep-drone soundscapes and modified faraway voices/noises that gradually evolve into an elegy to mental displacement. The music drifts from slow to slower, until it stabilizes itself in an almost muted moan from the centre of the earth; while I observe this afternoon’s fading lights delineating the contours of a distant “something” in evidence on the horizon, the unsettling mourning of “Eschgl Hel” has become a presence that I miss when the disc fades to its conclusion, in a melancholic evocation of a past that can’t be rescued anymore.
TASHI LHUNPO MONASTERY – Sacred prayers for H.H. the Dalai Lamas and Panchen Lamas (OgreOgress)
The sacred prayers to the Lamas are another revealing example of how Tibetan chanting can touch the deepest depths with just a few frail melodic segments repeated for long minutes, so that even the ones listening at home can feel a part of a purifying ceremony. I always struggle to find the correct words to write about these people and their priceless invitation to being stronger than we actually are. The monks always sound so completely at ease and peaceful that one can’t help but think that we never really understood what life is about. Tashi Lhunpo’s voices are here to remind us about the truth of those small, precious cells of existence we all pretend to discard, only to find ourselves grown colder to emotional charges after spending useless ages going nowhere and realizing less than zero. Remaining indifferent to these voices could represent the full stop to your chances of starting an important evolutional process within yourself.
TASHI LHUNPO MONASTERY – Sacred instrumental music (OgreOgress)
These recordings were made at Basilica of Saint Adalbert in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Seven monks from the Tashi Lhunpo Monastery were captured during an exhibition in which they performed a series of instrumental segments, wholly based on percussion and Gyaling (a Tibetan oboe that’s usually played when receiving respected teachers or to underline the offerings to enlightened beings). Actually we shouldn’t try to write about such an unadulterated kind of expression, because words seem to represent a way of polluting the extreme spirituality of these pieces, comparable to veritable ceremonials. But the sounds are there – and the silences too – therefore something must be said. And what transpires from here is obviously a sense of utter profoundness, elicited by a drum pattern or a bell, and especially by the typical sound of the oboes, heard in different combinations and superimpositions, at times generating the frequency beating that we’re used to find in certain examples of new music given the imprecise unison of these reed instruments. No composition, only the same timbres over and over again, establishing a direct link with a remote corner of the being that is never visible, sometimes not even to ourselves. The silence intersecting the tracks equals the one needed for this listen and, hypothetically, for the large part of life. Without that, people are all but dead already.
TASTE TRIBES – Taste Tribes (For 4 Ears)
In 2007, during the European trip that also gave birth to the 7K Oaks project, Alfred Harth met again – after 20 years – with Günter Müller, whom he played with in 1987 at Willisau together with Andres Bosshard, Phil Minton and Sonny Sharrock. A few days earlier, the expedition had featured the summit with Faust’s Hans Joachim Irmler; both sessions were duly recorded and reworked by A23H back in Seoul. There, through overdubbing and various manipulations, a new stunning chapter of XXI century EAI – that of the anarchic and noisy kind – was born. The trio started on-the-road activities since December 2008, trying to convey the same evil forces that this unpredictably pungent, inhospitable record throws at us in large doses. Make no mistake, this is a must – and Faust fans should love it at first try, too. Harth is the most instrumentally loaded with tenor sax, clarinet, Kaoss pad, thumb piano, voice and Dochirak Con Arco (sic). Irmler and Müller “limit” themselves to customary organ, iPod and electronics. “Genuine Imitation” starts with a hellish mire of menacing roars and bubbling acidity, electro-fishing applied to the flotsam and jetsam that was previously generated in the studio. Dialectics do exist, but the quantification of the levels of fury released by the musicians is a next-to-impossible task; the sampled guitar of Makoto Kawabata is an element of gore if you will, the recipe possessing nevertheless an epic spice that’s definitely unusual. This does not prepare for the beginning of “Servicing The Target”, an unbelievable mass of low-frequency rumbles that, received via headphone, puts the structure of your cranium in a state of total vibration, a fantastic illumination in the utter darkness, our eye sockets containing broken glass instead of eyes. “Weasel Worlds” sees the saxophone more at the forefront to begin with, soon engulfed by the incessant, if irregular pulsation of the other sources, a lattice of numskull noise that could be used by some doctor to cure photophobia, occurring into dark holes and godforsaken quarters where fragments of regular music echo in the distance, faded memories of concepts that are now nothing but sonic intumescences splattered with astuteness. The whole ends with Harth approaching the airy nothingness of contemporary new silence over a morbidly hypnotic drone until he remains alone, then stops for a while only to return with additional insufflations. Bizarre, and great. “Doubletwist” retrieves the mumbling giant from the centre of the earth, its limbs spreading in a territory where people were intent in scraping, warping and maiming conventional aesthetics. The absurdist combativeness heard all across the track is a sign of resiliency, yet there’s really no way to remember what happens, we’re just knocked out by the sheer uncontrollability of the acoustic events. The disc is sealed by the aptly titled “Eruptive Obfuscation”, still dominated by ominous presences in the quaking subsonic area. This is the basis for a hammer-drill succession of seismic movements, muttered prayers to a putrescent devilish icon dipped in the mud of obtrusive omnipresence that leave speechless in a tempest of feedback, metallic lament and that classic “Müller pump” at the very end, alone like a bird’s flap after a carnage. Taste Tribes are a killing machine, and no one’s going to be able to understand where their weak point is. The process is simply unstoppable, the music hard-faced and instinctive; no hope to conceive a method for the classification of something like this. Confess yourselves before attending the show.
DARREN TATE – Nothing by chance (Fungal)
Maybe the excellent multi-talents of Darren Tate reach their maximum potential when, as in this record’s first track, electronic hypnotics reinforce his already noticeable use of enhanced direct field recordings. “Nothing by chance”, like almost all Darren’s releases, never assaults the ear though being variously engaging and attention-catching; it sets borders to territories when one feels confident entering even if it’s clear nobody knows what’s gonna happen. This is “earthy” music in the strictest sense: water sounds are pretty much surrounding the listener – which seems to be sort of a signature for this English soundscaper – and those motors appearing and disappearing far away like celestial gnomes make sure we feel relieved…After all, getting back won’t take too long; even if it’s late and it’s raining, distant muffled piano chords show the way home.
DARREN TATE – Age and transformation (Fungal)
The best thing one can say about Darren Tate’s compositions is that he has created a style of his own, almost immediately recognizable as soon as you put the record on. Yet, “Age and transformation” adds something new: a choice of unusually modified concrete sources and instruments that, mixed with Tate’s classic environmental ghost-town atmospheres, make for a state of controlled giddiness permeating this magnificent release completely. Initially, guitar strings are scraped and deformed in an unsteady context; then the “trademark Tate” meshing of birds, motors and drones slowly takes charge to fully affirm itself in the second part of the CD, where being dizzy because of this humid composite of electronics and real things is not only normal, but probably necessary. This work also confirms Tate as the most “uncontaminated” soundscaper that I currently have memory of; one just has to appreciate such a unique artistic vision.
DARREN TATE – Close timid night (Fungal)
I don’t even know if this should be called “music” anymore; the fact is, I’ve been growing so fond of the tiny miniatures by Darren Tate that now I can’t live without them. It’s just unbelievable how similar to my personal environment and inner predispositions these peripheral soundscapes can be; I fully enjoy the clock ticking incessantly, the outside-window long distance field recordings (cars, chatting people, crying babies), the inside activities performed silently and only rarely interrupted by a soft cough or by the crack of a hunter’s rifle awaking me from an intense torpor. Meanwhile, an improvisation of easy – if a little disconnected – harpsichord melodies adds a touch of naive dadaism to the whole picture; at first it all seems to verge on the absurd but, after a while, you’d feel abandoned if you couldn’t hear it coming from that distant room.
DARREN TATE – Formation (Fungal)
Small string noises coming from the outside-the-fingerboard parts of a guitar appear at a first glance, just like shimmering droplets. An organ cluster generating a full-bodied dissonant drone fades in and out, only to return accompanied by what sounds like the faraway call of out-of-shape mermaids wrapped in ancient fishing nets covered with enormous seaweeds. As we observe an oil pollution spreading on the surface of an already diseased water, we’re slowly surrounded by the fog of nothingness while the sound becomes a distressing hybrid of Monos and Mirror, permeated as it is of a palpable tension which is usually extraneous to these circumstances. Guitar sounds come back with their concrete significance, adding an ulterior touch of percussive embellishment to this engrossing soundscape; a sense of incumbency throws us in an uncertain mental posture. Looking around, only vacuous looks and ill-smiled faces can be found; meanwhile, an out of tune radio puts the definitive sigil on what’s maybe Darren Tate’s absolute masterwork in the gallery of his solo albums.
DARREN TATE – Cryptical (Fungal)
Tate must be the most sincere artist on the English scene. Each one of his self-released limited editions bears the captivating trademarks of his inner world, a series of sonic fingerprints that make his music absolutely inimitable, full as it is of depth and ingenuousness which transform subtleties and imperfections into a much desired presence in your own life. “Cryptical” consists of three tracks, the first being a typical Darren proceeding of treated field recordings – water in primis – which somehow the York artisan puts in perfect tune with simple keyboard melodies. The second track is a chordal pulse, kind of a study on the contrasting “beating” frequencies springing out of superimposed clusters on an electric organ. The last piece is another beauty of environmental snapshot, where the hum of electricity and the background distant noise of an urban area are punctuated by birds and crows telling their own truth. Another benchmark in Darren Tate’s production, this is surely one of his very best works.
DARREN TATE – Trees kissing trees (Fungal)
Starting from its wonderful title, the new self release by Darren Tate articulates the Englishman’s unadulterated views through three movements mixing dadaism, lyrical contemplation, minimal everyday memories and gentle nightmares where dissonant narratives and recollections of ancient times throw in a stupor of which we would like to be surrounded forever. Darren is joined by Daisuke Suzuki and Kathleen Vance, a 79-year old Scottish lady – who also happens to be Tate’s neighbour – whose hands treat an accordion like a means for discovering new shapes and colours, which are successively drenched in faraway reverberations broken only by deep electronic drones dictating a strange drift. In the first part, water sounds mix with ruptured melodies of electric organ over static clusters, while the record ends with a shorter composition based on the processed recordings of crickets in an ever changing electronic/wire mosaic. It’s all here, just another brilliant chapter in Tate’s collection of ultra limited editions which – in their scarcity – seem to contain a direct link to intimate life secrets, a humble sapience by now forgotten by many artists, let alone human beings.
DARREN TATE – The elves are coming (Twenty Hertz)
Once again Darren Tate is helped by Daisuke Suzuki, who supplies his field recordings comprising birds, insects, voices and a constant suffocated hum that could be emitted by a fan or some other domestic appliance. This hazy ambience constitutes the foundation for the experiments that Tate conducts by manipulating the sounds of a guitar and a keyboard, which get caressed and dismembered at one and the same time in order to find the innocent voice of their components, something which the York soundscaper is a master of. Darren is one of the few artists still able to approach an instrument or a composition like if fronting an empty canvas or a blank page, his totally unruly behaviour a key for the interpretation of a music that sounds both familiar and quite undecipherable, especially when its level of anarchy is at the top of the scale. Either way, this child-like attitude is the very strength of this beautiful release; the tradition according to which a “Darren Tate style” does exist but cannot be defined by mere words continues. From my point of view, “The elves are coming” is another unmissable item in this man’s chain of underground pearls, including his truly special cover artworks.
DARREN TATE – Ghost guitars (Fungal)
“Ghost guitars” contains the basic elements of Darren Tate’s solo work, recombined in four free-form vignettes. The tracks present – among the rest – psychedelic meanderings over a cheap rhythm machine, sudden noises and distortion arising from the manipulation of the mix, his customary environmental backgrounds full of birds and insects (Daisuke Suzuki contributing with his own, too) and Tate’s late neighbour Kathleen Vance’s accordion, heard in the distance during the third movement. This time the composer is a little bit harsher than usual in his sound choices, as he seems to privilege atmospheres nearer to a bad dream, with lots of misshapen emissions springing out of processed keyboard patches and guitar outbursts. Even some of the quietest moments are disturbed by maimed electronics and flanging metallic appearances that break a tranquillity established by a fixed organ chord or a placid six-stringed improvisation immersed in a field recording. This music works well as a “temporary soundtrack”: if you love mixing the voice of the outside world with the records you listen to, “Ghost guitars” is perfect, at least if you don’t live in a clangour-suffocated area. Taken as a musical effort per se, this CD is on the same coherence level of everything else self-released by Tate, only with a more distinct experimental trait enriched by the products of his inquisitive ingenuousness.
DARREN TATE – Reveal (Fungal)
One of the very best solo releases by Tate, “Reveal” welcomes us with the composer’s photo on the cover, a rarity for those who don’t belong to his close acquaintances. Immediately, a slowly moving electronic purr in the low frequency territory establishes its authority, but it’s a gentle one that cuddles the nerves into a preliminary state of circumspect beatitude. Additional synthetic fluctuations, of variable amplitude and shape, appear with increasing evidence in the mix, shifting our focus on a kind of cosmic suspension recalling some of Morton Subotnick’s work. In the third and longest track, Tate’s familiar field recordings are meshed to the concoction until an exquisite balance is achieved almost effortlessly. Every once in a while, bass notes or extraneous noises capture the attention for a split second in a well definite alternative ecosystem, then the “sounds from outer space” assume complete control over an immutable keyboard drone and various whooshes of synthetic wind. It looks just like the perfect cross between two different worlds, and one has to love every moment of it. The final minutes are taken by a delightfully naive piece based on church organ timbres and more analogue-sounding emanations, closing the album on a positive vibe. As usual with Darren Tate, a few brushes are all that’s needed for being transported into a dimension that’s congenial with a gracile purity.
DARREN TATE – Edition (Fungal)
This release by Darren Tate is characterized by two slight differences in reference to his customary approach; one is that “Edition” consists of six shorter tracks (a total of about 40 minutes) as opposed to the two/three long ones that he usually gifts us with, the second is the evident importance given to the use of electronic waves that constitute the basic soundscape for dissonant slide guitar elucubrations (mostly bathed in delay) and other assorted improvisations; Daisuke Suzuki also contributes with personal recordings. Despite these minor deviations from the norm, Tate’s unique sincerity is noticeable all over the disc, which features pleasing moments of synthetic stir, oscillating pulse, glissando oneirism and subsonic droning. As usual, this elemental simplicity is the very strength of the pieces, which deploy straightforward timbres with clarity and definition so that we’re always able to understand what happens at a first glance, without an ounce of cerebral contortion. It’s all there under the sun, right in front of us, instantly familiar and functional to our cognitive processes; the ideas unfold very gradually, letting the music remain in the realm of natural occurrence. No need of extravagant tricks or technically complex declarations, the man being an expert sweet talker to our childish inner self, which recognizes his signals as an intimate invitation to follow him in dreams that look absolutely uncontaminated. This innocent directness has always been Tate’s main attribute, and “Edition” is another confirmation of the level of his creativity.
DARREN TATE – Small worlds (Quiet World)
As we all know, Darren Tate is luckily rather prolific these days. “Small worlds” is one of his simplest releases to date, but stands among the overall most beautiful ones. Throughout 38 minutes divided into three tracks we’re subjected to a continuous sense of disquieting wait for the unknown, exalted by Tate’s choice of sonorities that alternate slowly swaying electronics, rumbles apparently from the centre of the earth, guitar strings caressed in languid anarchy (with only a few more visible spots where zings, plucks and light frictions appear) and, in the final and longest piece, the return of the mother drone. If you recall, Tate and Andrew Chalk, during their work together as Ora, were the first to explore these shores well before the mass of imitators that nowadays release shameless shallow copies of those masterpieces. Yet “Small worlds” is, again, something wholly different. Darren’s sound shows a porousness of sorts, the very reason for which – behind what might look like impenetrability – there is instead the access key to a universe where everyone looks the same, completely naked in front of acoustic phenomena that are right there, almost tangible, although still escaping from a meaning. Inevitably, one goes for the sheer description of what is perceived, but it’s all the more useless as Tate’s aural frames, just like his affecting artworks full of gnomes, leaves and – in this instance – tiny animals portrayed over magnificent surreal landscapes, contain a single element from every available process or technique, being mixed effortlessly by an alchemist whose place among the greats is secure since at least a decade. As always with the man from Yorkshire, this is a limited edition that, in this particular case, should be grabbed faster than usual. The music is that good.
DARREN TATE – Organ of sight (Fungal)
One never gets enough of the quiet, almost unassuming method of making music – we should say “art” at large – of Darren Tate. Each of his limited editions possesses something unique – the graphics on the sleeves, the beautiful abstractions on the discs – whose simplicity is all the more desirable in a world where spectacular covers often hide an utter lack of significant musical content. “Organ of sight” is classic Tate: two shorter, slowly drifting pieces open and close the album, while a central longer segment features environmental and domestic sounds, over which the composer adds ethereal guitars (probably obtained with a slide and long reverberation) and linear keyboard figures – very simple indeed, at times recalling children when they start playing around on their newly acquired toy. The whole sounds graceful, constituting a pleasing morning soundtrack. But, this time, the electronic tracks gain my bigger attention and appreciation, as the scarce elements of which they’re made (slowly shifting tones, slightly warbled waves, a general sense of being lost in space, trance-inducing frequency beats and so on) are sufficient to sustain minutes upon minutes of effective interaction with our system, who – as always with the Yorkshire man – enters a condition of total relax, conscious as we are that there is nothing wrong to be expected. It just looks like everything connects, assuming the semblance of a welcome humanity that we’re not used to experience anymore; places where normality is still the biggest asset. That Darren is capable to regularly update this mental setting with such gratifying works is already great news in itself. The restricted number of copies flash the usual message: act quick.
DARREN TATE – Another Sunday (Fungal)
Trying to catch up with Darren Tate’s recent productive surge is of course more of a pleasure than a proper task. “Another Sunday” is among his most minimalist releases, a record where the “trance factor” remains very present throughout, mostly thanks to a sapient use of slow electronic oscillations that constitute an extremely comfortable cocoon for the brain. The first two tracks revolve around a similar design, a progressively changing static keyboard tapestry that unfolds in parallel with an incessant flanged repetition that draws peculiar harmonics and spirals. A lullaby for a baby alien could not sound better. We detect a kind of inner depuration as this construction is developed, the undulating charm of the music leading to a thorough detachment from the insidiousness of useless daily relationships. Gorgeous indeed. Still, the best is yet to come: the third movement starts with a low drone (guitar strings, one surmises – but you never know with this gentleman) that immediately establishes a quasi-human pulse, a bewitching throbbing hypnosis that the room’s walls help to reflect and diffuse for the happiness of my psychophysical apparatus. The scarce notes that punctuate this wonderful humming mantra just add to the final result, nearing this piece to Terry Rileyan territories. As a gift for our faithfulness, Tate closes the disc with an environmental track, a trademark little gem full of chirping birds and distant cars, a snippet of tranquillity that makes me feel at home, although I’d have to say that the same happens every time that I enjoy Darren’s work. Anyway, “Another Sunday” is veritably special – one of this artist’s most intense records ever. There’s no acceptable reason to miss it.
DARREN TATE / PAUL BRADLEY – Sometime today (Plinkity Plonk)
There must be something in the water over there in the North of England; put any work by one of these magicians under a microscope and you’ll never have a clue about sources, treatments, inspirations or influences. In this joint release by Tate and Bradley, you find yourself “in the zone” after a few moments: Darren’s field recordings and Paul’s electronic transformations strike a perfect balance in an infusion of slowed down drones and human activity that has the power of shutting any extra cerebral activity completely out of your life’s picture. There is a strong relationship among the different components of the music that can be distinctly experienced even in the total cohesiveness of some high-impact low frequency evolution: listen to your woofer crying mercy if raising the volume over a medium/low level. I’m sure that – thanks to these sounds – one can change his/her own brainwave emissions because of a total distance from the psychological elaboration of these disguised codes. Summarizing it all, this is another crucial record in the respectable long chain of CDs by both Tate and Bradley: these guys rekindle the dying flames of a spiritual value that quite often I consider as utterly disintegrated.
DARREN TATE & IAN HOLLOWAY – The moon as a hole (Fungal)
While everybody by now should know who Darren Tate is, you could even be forgiven (certainly not by me) if not remembering that Ian Holloway is both the mastermind after the ever-intriguing Psychic Space Invasion project and the boss of great little labels like Elvis Coffee and Quiet World. This, their very first collaboration on disc, is a perfect showcase of their talents and styles, mixing elements from both artists’ aesthetic views in a gorgeous collection of highly engrossing subterranean prophecies. This kind of music should be reserved for special occasions, which of course one can’t really foresee; but something can be done with a little patience. The first necessity is solitude, because just thinking of ruining the regular pulse of these subdued, low-frequency based electronic landscapes with the noise of neighbours watching TV or children running around the house is like swearing against your favourite god. Then, a pinch of luck; when you’re a good enough boy it happens sometimes. While the pre-recorded birds, the blurred repetitions or that imaginary muted choir (in the fabulous second track) were meshing with the surrounding circumstances, the August sun suddenly disappeared – just like eclipsed – because of giant clouds that had arrived without being noticed. Right then and there, the first “abstract variations” appeared: steady synthetic waves shifting in the stereo field, airy currents of uncertain origin, vaguely extraneous melodies hinted by disembodied keyboards and what sounds like a decaying cello. The third movement is a little more impenetrable and slightly dissonant, being also crossed by more irregular emissions – just to add that Dada touch so important for Tate – and metalloid improvisations. But the slow chordal transition heard in the background places every detail in its right context, transforming the whole in a delightful quandary from which one would never get out. The glissandos that cause our lungs to lose steam in the last section nominate “The moon as a hole” for the masterpiece status. Electronic investigations with huge quantities of humanity, containing the sound of a hundred ideas, not a hundred sounds hiding half an idea.
TAUNUS – Harriet (Ahornfelder)
Sometimes a gentle-sounding surprise materializes on the desk of a man overwhelmed by discs, preferably while the poor guy is being inexorably devastated by noisy free improvisation and deadly feedback. In this case the reward for the sufferance is a 33-minute CD by Taunus, the duo of Jan Thoben and Jochen Briesen, who are not credited by any particular instrument on the cover despite the fact that acoustic guitars and piano are definitely present. For the occasion they were helped by Derek Shirley (double bass), Michael Thieke (clarinet), Wilm Thoben (vibraphone) and F.S. Blumm (guitar), plus vocal contributions by Michèle Schneider and Micha Bucur. Strangely delicate, one would say to describe the material contained here. “Strangely”, because it’s not oh-so-consonant as it seems at a first glance. Themes start easy enough, then become crossings of more complicated harmonic passages. Songs sound like “normal” songs, if only to end with solo percussion outbursts or even with quacking ducks. Fingerpicked guitars depict rural atmospheres that get instantly erased by a processed female voice reciting words in answering machine fashion. Simple melodies and ingenuous ideas amidst quirky tricks that result extremely pleasurable to these ears. Minimalism meets Ralph Towner in a bar where Gastr Del Sol and Sam Amidon are performing together. It grows slowly, to the point of becoming almost indispensable. Unusual and seriously likable.
TAUS – The organ of Corti (L’innomable)
Yet another laptop recording, the reviewer sighs. Isn’t it incredible how poor the chances of creating interesting exhalations with such powerful machines have become? A sort of inverse proportion between the technical possibilities of the cold tool and sheer – although often absent – creative ability. But with Taus (Tim Blechmann and Klaus Filip) it’s different, the diversity lying in a verb: unfold. If we want to have an example of computer music that “unfolds”, this is it. It does so pretty slowly, gradually going through passages of slight change where a couple of components are enough, in several occasions, to elicit the feel of a natural environment. Interminable slopes – similar to infinite feedback, or is it? – over which the body of these sound waves elongates characterize large chunks of the piece, seemingly portraying a peculiar life cycle. The noise generated by the performers is associable to biological constituents rather than complex machinery and, what’s all the more important, leaves time to the mind to adapt to a sonic setting before shifting the focus to the next. What’s too commonly noticed in this kind of release is a thorough lack of direction, resulting in a gang-bang against our artistic perception, the commercialization of a hypocrite freedom of expression hiding veritable incapability. Filip and Blechmann know what they’re doing in every moment instead: one only needs to observe the masterful consecutiveness of absorbing sonorities that this work presents. Elements that might not be new – although certain low frequencies starting around minute 17 are among the most engrossing I’ve heard in recent times – yet employed with extreme cleverness, the whole producing a very satisfying outing under any angle.
SCOTT TAYLOR – Five dreams for sleepers (Conv Net.Lab)
Through a competent choice of events and an even more brilliant sequencing of the same, Scott Taylor manages to sustain attention throughout the duration of these “Five dreams”. This music has an “evolved soundtrack” quality, leading the listener through different specimens of perceptive alteration; the “dreamy” origin of the tracks is to be found in the sapient mix of field recordings, oneiric minimal electronica and distant calls emerging through the haze (Giuseppe Verdi’s “Va pensiero” is camouflaged amidst the impressive resonances of “Closedown”). Another lovely feature is Taylor’s use of short compact melodies – some of them just similar to children’s lullabies – that act both as an introduction to the more complex and introverted sections and as relieving return to peace after the most imagination-boggling separations from reality, the latter always pleasing these ears anyway. This is a sonic bijoux that, although not breaking any new ground, nevertheless owns a sense of peculiar painkilling radiance which makes its presence welcome any time, a nice and different item in the ever qualitative production of this label.
SCOTT TAYLOR / SRMEIXNER – Please keep clear at all times (Entr’acte)
There are sections in this excellent CD that at first reminded me of “Variety”, Marcus Schmickler’s collaborative effort with John Tilbury. But it’s just an impression, as the music of Taylor and Meixner collects memories of a by now unreachable past, putting them right into the wrinkles of minds that got raped by too many easy listening tortures. Consisting of a nice mix of environmental and studio recordings, this music hides its intentions while offering a formless appeal fed by natural resonance and muted intensity. Kenneth Kirschner’s piano contributes to a general state of corporeal abandon in “Kirschner’s wind”, whose sparse chords bathing in a suburban atmosphere are a delicate threat to the excess of solitude. “Nothing falls into place” is all subsonic turbulence and nocturnal insight amidst industrial loops and noises. “The sound of X” features the softly bewailing voice of Jonathan Grieve, between rumbling shadows and aquatic pressures in what’s maybe the only track containing slight references to Meixner’s past work with Contrastate. Yet, this is not that kind of psychedelia, rather an engrossing, even disturbing concoction of skilled composition and unique electroacoustic visions. Highly recommended.
TEAM UP – Team up (Reify)
Improvisation based on textural acumen, never going bananas, always building upon intelligent discrepancies and accurate exposition. Jeremy Drake and Chris Heenan bend and mold timbres like two lovely artisans, linking their instrumental craft to the always well placed statements by percussionist Stephen Flinn. Guitars are barely recognizable at times, while reeds are treated with both caress and punch, emitting long harmonics and reflective tones mixing with colours near to the daxophone land. These musicians possess a supple mind and play without periphrases, going straight to the core of meaning without looking around for good panoramas; their proven dexterity is such a high value against any possibility of oddball nothingness, which in improvising contexts is always more than a chance happening. Precious moments subsequent to aleatory prefaces – that’s how I synthesize “Team up” in a few words.
TENNISCOATS – Totemo Aimasho (Room40)
Minutely post-modern, largely instrumental pop/folk songs sung by a husband-and-wife duo, Saya and Takashi Ueno, with the help of various friends (including Room40’s boss Lawrence English on synth, electronics and field recordings). The classic “bucolic Japanese” feel – namely being suspended between extreme ingenuity and experimentation – is here at its maximum degree as Saya’s vocals, halfway through uneducated warbling and spontaneous evocation, easily make us think about Jack Or Jive (“Seclusion”, their project with Christoph Heemann, remains a splendid work). In other occasions, one distantly associates the music to a “soft” version of After Dinner, yet mild-mannered electronic treatments and peculiar arrangements define the style of this artefact as moderately unique. The songs are more effective when the “jangle” factor is kept in disguise (unlike the final track “To do first”, in my opinion ruined by an obnoxious nylon-string guitar accompaniment); the voiceless sections raise the overall level enough to leave the water of curiosity boiling in the pot for at least a couple of additional tries. I always do my best to listen to every record in any possible setting, this time finding out that “Totemo Aimasho” works much better when headphones are put away, thus letting these miniatures resonate placidly in the house at not excessive volume.
TEXTURIZER – Texturizer (Antifrost)
Nikos Veliotis and Coti K. (cello and electronic treatments) are Texturizer. They gathered in an Athens church to record this monolithic jewel, which promptly puts them in the high positions of postindustrial and minimal electroacoustic ranks. I would try and describe Texturizer’s music as glacial, apparently immobile yet showing continuous contrasts and variations: cello’s low frequencies are so carefully treated and disemboweled in order to depict a still life of spectral snapshots, from a single note to a fully structured “dark ambient” movement; meanwhile the time passes by and you just don’t realize it. Sometimes your attention is caught by a far dirge, almost like a suburban lamentation; somewhere else you’re just content of floating in desolation. Only in the final minutes the sound comes near to a sort of opening, but in reality you just have a glimpse of another day that’s still to come – and you’ll have to work hard to understand what’s happening.
TEXTURIZER – 7 (Antifrost)
Nikos Veliotis and Coti K don’t need to embellish what’s already consistent, and there is no doubt that the Greek duo could cure various kinds of mental disorder through the sheer power of their music. The four movements of “7″ won’t disappoint those who expect drones, but Texturizer lead the listeners into that realm only after having subjected them to a more percussive, obsessive initiation rite, where plucked cello notes bounce all over the head like an oppressive caustic hail. Yet, it doesn’t take too much before slow chants and spiking harmonics – all courtesy of Veliotis’ bow – become an appreciated radioactive substance that Coti K masterfully treats with electronics and effects, bringing about masses of repetitive patterns and cascades of minimal quivering that – especially in the third and longest movement – become almost frightful in their growing intensity. This is music that expresses the rage of desolation with lo-fi brilliance, not “innovative” just for the sake of it, but essentially valuable. It confirms Texturizer as one of the “right” entities by which being disinfected and entangled at one and the same time.
THE ARENTOR ORCHESTRA – The third ending (Incidental) – The fourth plan (Incidental)
Belgian Ronny Van Hee hides behind various artistic personas – Gart & Seekatze being the most “famous” one – but his intriguing sound world is also explicated through The Arentor Orchestra, of which these ultra-limited editions (50 numbered copies each) are a fine example. Tapes, environmental sounds, digital effects, feedback and Roland W30 are the instrumentation used by Van Hee in both albums, coming with almost identical artwork and seemingly conceptually linked in more than a single aspect. “The third ending” is a little bit more diversified, noisy at times, revolving around a meditative axis which is thoroughly disfigured by hissing tapes and piercing feedback; an apocalyptic soundscape where the rumble of a tornado and the fizzle of sulphuric acid on already rusted metals are the extremes of a continuous curved line linking mesmerism and emotional eruption. Shorter at under 30 minutes, “The fourth plan” is characterized by a two-note synth figure that is often repeated upon a whooshing ill wind of unclassifiable frequencies and fetching hypnotic resonances. The simple elements that form the music are more than enough to radically alter any listening attitude and make us raise our head, even if listened at a barely perceptible level.
THE BEAUTIFUL SCHIZOPHONIC – Hyperblue.Hydrophonics (Mystery Sea)
I’m quite surprised by this debut CD of Portuguese Jorge Mantas, because what I had heard on a Thisco split CD with Bio and Cria Cuervos didn’t appeal to me at all. As it’s often the case in this kind of music, a good choice of sounds can really change the course of things, thus nice records can spring out even when compositional skills are not very refined. The Beautiful Schizophonic has managed to capture many essential characters of an imaginary submersion through a vast collection of barely intelligible manifestations ranging from low rumbles and underground atmospheres through manipulation of sources that result in powerful electronic menace or – naturally – undetermined sloping water movements. All things considered, nothing miraculous; but in the right moment, it works.
THE BEAUTIFUL SCHIZOPHONIC – Musicamorosa (Cronica)
Influenced by a lot of names “to be found outside the music field”, which include Proust, Poe, Alighieri, Friedrich, Waterhouse and so on, up to director Sofia Coppola and erotic photographers Guido Argentini and Roy Stuart, Portuguese Jorge Mantas wants us to call him a “sound designer”, not a “composer”. He also hates those who don’t express emotion through their work, and concludes that there’s nothing more uninspiring than an “untitled” piece (a WBA/WBC title unification match with Francisco López looms after this declaration, one surmises). That’s why the large part of the titles in this CD are taken from Marcel Proust. But what’s all the more important is that in its non-revolution – because this is purely and simply laptop-conceived, loop-based music – “Musicamorosa” contains the best things I’ve heard from the artist in question. A touch of romanticism, a good choice of intoxicating spirals of orchestral samples and circular chords and, voila, almost 70 minutes flow away with few annoyances (next to none, I’d say) and several truly arresting moments, at times whispering Basinskian languages, often only showing different schemes for the utilization of common ingredients. Luscious, abstract, caressing; those are the most useful adjectives here, partially negated by the long final track “Soixtante-quatre” which tends to a blacker kind of electronic mystery.
THE BSC – Good (Grob)
Restricting themselves to the very limit, The BSC (a small improvising unit led by Bhob Rainey, including sax, trumpet, theremin, tapes, cello, electronics, bass, guitar and voice) sharpen shatters and levigate turmoils to raise rags of sounds going from air blowing in tubes to the gentle rumble of a calm metallic river. Tufts of life spring out of the instruments without many turnarounds in a variegated flux of events representing the mediation of strong partners merging unique visions. A partition of homogeneous frequencies is nicely applied throughout this concrete representation, where frustration by inconsistency – typical of many improvisational settings – is indeed replaced by the discovery of unadorned fringes decorating hidden beauties; at about 37 minutes, it’s just perfect.
THE CHE GUEVARA MEMORIAL MARCHING (AND STATIONARY) ACCORDION BAND – s/t (Public Eyesore)
The formula – an accordion sextet – is quite simple but taking a look at the names of these improvisers (Bob Marsh, Dan Cantrell, David Slusser, Ernesto Diaz-Infante, John Finkbeiner, Ron Heglin) one already knows we’re in for lots of unconventional techniques, no-boundary excursions and dissonance a go-go. Although a mass of accordion clusters can become seriously oppressive for unqualified listeners, this armada mysteriously finds a way to escape the hammers of boredom through a systematic combination of slight distress and levity which raises the music level up a few notches. The fractured structure of the pieces – particularly the “Tender (Loin) suite” – does the rest, allowing the Che Guevarians to affirm their absolutely independent-minded aesthetic, counterpointed by an idealistic stance transpiring from every single moment of the disc; but if you expected something like Lars Hollmer’s fairy tales or Guy Klucevsek’s recent romanticisms, you’ve ventured yourself in a dangerous place.
THE CONTEST OF PLEASURES – Albi days (Potlatch)
“Every acoustic musician” – writes John Butcher – “is at the mercy of the sound of the room they play in”. Not a truer word. Yet in “Albi days” the environment collaborates quite democratically with inquisitive players like Butcher himself and colleagues of venture Xavier Charles and Axel Dörner. The combination of saxophone, clarinet and trumpet was captured in different settings: live in various sections of a chapel and in the “dry studio of GMEA”, the Centre de Création Musicale d’Albi-Tarn. The result, in any case, is nothing less than unadulterated excellence. The musicians play with premonitory concentration, their transparency of intents as the key to a leaderless relinquishment of the common aspects of improvisational grammars. All sounds are directed to the centre of a vortex where a process of decontamination is continuously activated, millimetric shifts of timbral mimetism deriving both from extreme sensitiveness during the interplay and from post-production’s intelligence, as the players themselves and sound engineer Laurent Sassi seamed these five mindbending explorations by editing many hours of original recordings, thus creating a unique blend of “comprovisation” which yields many moments of deeply emotional tension, often mutating into true radiance.
THE CONTEST OF PLEASURES – Tempestuous (Another Timbre)
John Butcher (tenor and soprano sax), Xavier Charles (clarinet) and Axel Dörner (trumpet) were recorded live in 2006 in Huddersfield. More than the acoustic dynamics at work, the album’s title was probably inspired by the weather conditions of that evening (“wet and blowy”, as per the liners’ description). This didn’t prevent the trio to execute a scintillating performance, characterized by everything we’d expect from them, people who will sound majestically restricted, hugely silent, delicately violent even in a locker room. At the basis of this confrontation, a like-minded explorative analysis of the sensible aspects of the vibrational patterns created by the air compressed, interrupted, tongued up through a reed/brass conduit. Notes, or just a fraction of their constituents, have a unique manner of rubbing silence, looking for their counterparts to join and establish a three-way ingurgitation of anything remotely schematic, as if self-governing pitches and harmonics enforced the avoidance of an excess of linearity. Despite the duskiness, the instruments seem to allude to reciprocal timbral characteristics almost in terms of imitation, allowing to determine the player’s personality only after long moments of concentration. Taken as a whole, the most impressive feature of this music resides in the sudden surges, the glissando passages from hush to over-acute stridency, the ebb and flow of structures which a hypothetical microscope would reveal particularly complex. Yet it sounds exactly the opposite, the artists searching for sweet spots in camerae obscurae where the exhilarating promiscuousness of dissonant contiguity becomes the very reason for the overheating of our neurons, in desperate need of divergent stimuli since at least two centuries ago. Let researchers go on, though: maybe the next time – as a different chemical agglomerate, with an overall better functionality, when it’s finally clear that the gate has remained shut – they will finally realize that words are useless. Meanwhile, Butcher, Charles and Dörner have once again shown us the right path to a wholesome comprehension of otherwise inexplicable phenomena of essential resonance.
THE CONVERGENCE QUARTET – Live in Oxford (FMR)
Taylor Ho Bynum (cornet, flugelhorn), Harris Eisenstadt (drums), Alexander Hawkins (piano, small instruments) and Dominic Lash (double bass) are the members of The Convergence Quartet, a not-too-friendly unit whose means of expression is a mixture of linearity and complexity applied in equal doses over the course of five tracks, each one curiously penned by a lone component but not revelatory of its composer’s primary instrument’s influence. The large part of the album sounds like pure improvisation, though, with just a modicum of pretty minimal themes to which the players return after the most difficult unpremeditated sections. A Mark Isham-like trumpet draws horizontal lines of calmness amidst Cecil Taylor-ish spurts in “Convergence”, only to start babbling and clamouring while riding a muscular vamp by Lash, while Eisenstadt, the father of this particular piece, accompanies and underlines with masterful sensitiveness, at times coming to the front in the mix with rare outbursts. Hawkins’ “Goodbye, Sir” is very variegated, fractured in a way, lots of quasi-silences interrupted either by complex interplay or introvert explorations by a single instrument; think “XX-Century dissonant marching band, power switched alternatively on and off”, with additional pinches of solo follies to render the music even more unbalanced. The live recording captures the group as a resonating, often booming whole, the instruments exploiting the natural reverberation of Oxford’s Jacqueline Du Pré Music Building to represent a collective picture where details are to be intuited and guessed rather than individuated. The dynamic contrasts always remain within the borders of acceptability also for less expert ears, transforming the experience in an exercise in attentive listening that needs concentration to give out its secrets.
THE CORTET – HHHH (Unsounds)
Featuring a mouth-watering lineup including Cor Fuhler (grand piano, preparations), Thomas Lehn (analogue synth), Rhodri Davies (harp, preparations) and John Butcher (tenor and soprano sax), The Cortet is indeed an incarnation of improvising supergroup; reluctantly intense, this music builds its transcendence upon a continuing circumspection, often bordering with almost silent visualizations of an astonishingly detailed oversensitivity. Also thanks to electric devices such as eBows, Fuhler and Davies rouse the strings of their instruments according to a logic of incessant vibration which assumes the leading role of a self-regenerating energy where Lehn’s synthesizer acts as an antenna, capturing every single pressure shift. Butcher’s unbelievable control of saxophone’s dynamics allows him to sound scarily determined during the most complicated sections (“Hn” being a nice example); yet, he exercises his gorgeous continuum distillations at best when The Cortet apprehensively dance around the deep cracks of their slant rationale.
THE DAGGER BROTHERS – You don’t have to be mad to be in The Dagger Brothers but it does help (Void Of Ovals)
A clutch of short tunes featuring absurd lyrics and arrangements mixing cheesy synths and drum machines, with a lot of rhythmic irregularity and a few touches of genius in certain harmonic passages. Part deviated 80’s pop, part bizarre curiosity, this music’s flavour is nice yet I’m afraid that it lasts more or less like a chewing gum’s. Think of a cross of Depeche Mode after having been run over by a truck and a team of employees’ club dilettantes – with a measure of musical taste – gathering in a room to write songs about their idiot chief. Sometimes they even seem to believe that what they’re doing is serious. It isn’t – but funny for a while, yes.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF SHAPE V DAN HOPKINS – Close to the edge (No Ground)
In line with their multimedia-oriented approach, people at No Ground release a ten-minute, quite beautiful film by Dan Hopkins on a 3-inch DVD. “Close to the edge” is based on morphing images and colours elaborated from different takes while driving through the night, in the country, in frozen landscapes and so on, all accompanied by a slowly drifting, guitar-based soundtrack by The Development of Shape, mostly very melancholic and pretty intense. The different frames and slow arpeggios mix in a perfect concoction of almost psychedelic audiovisuals, similar to the faint lights and sounds we perceive during the REM phase, in a short and concise abstraction which deserves to be known by a larger audience.
THE DIPLOMATS – We are not obstinate islands (Clean Feed)
Rob Brown’s alto saxophone and Steve Swell’s trombone burn every bridge behind them by playing with consequential, lucid incidence five salvos where Harris Eisenstadt’s drums are a means of emancipation from the constrictions of powerlessly swinging cerebral death. The perimeter of this flexible architecture is highlighted by large doses of furious fantasy and compressed irony, with Swell’s great tone akin to a rubicund, Orson Welles-like face trying to alert his companions about a dire situation which, on the contrary, they find quite funny. Brown responds accordingly, counterpunching with his saxophone intelligence while avoiding the traps of bebop atrocities and the frightening “Coltrane’s-long-distance-nephew” syndrome; his phrasing is enriched by a kind of virtuosity that’s virulent, galvanizing but never bourgeois. Eisenstadt bounces his sticks on perfectlly tuned skins which are a joy to hear, an elastic juggler whose behavior is the one of a motor whose stroke number changes with the velocity of a thought. Tasty as it is, this difficult music is a spiced vegeburger of multiform shapes and colours – no fats, just a lot of substance. Another, please.
THE DOMESTIC FRONT – Having achieved balance you cannot be moved sideways…so you rise (Belsona Strategic)
It takes several tries to penetrate it, but this CD from Thom Bailey offers lots of intriguing clues that separate his music from the mass of computer noodlers calling their awful crocks a “release”. These four tracks pump adrenaline and activate neurons, yet they also leave enough room for the brain to understand what’s going on. The Domestic Front chews hundreds of recollections and instant shocks, then spits them out in a complex onslaught of “style-collision plunderphonics” that juxtaposes synthetic riffs (the opening track “Love of meaning” sounds like a mangled reworking of Phil Collins’ “Sussudio”), catastrophic surcharges, single clean guitar chords in a tempest of influences, home-made Gregorian chants. Bailey mixes the ingredients carefully, so that we know that “something is there” without effectively being able to catch it; he’s also good in channelling the whole flux of energy to a kind of less-than-reassuring, yet slightly calmer conclusion which leaves us perplexed but instantly willing to listen to the album again in order to unlock the batch of little secrets that were left undiscovered. Due to the “potentially damaging frequencies” and “fluctuating volume levels” generated by Bailey, be careful when using headphones.
THE DROPP ENSEMBLE – The empire builders (Longbox)
Soundtrack for a play by Boris Vian, this music was recorded in 2003 by Sam Dellaria, Wolfgang Fuchs, Steven Hess, Eric La Casa, Aram Shelton, Adam Sonderberg, Brendan Walls and Alexander Wallner; their sonic contribute was later assembled by Dellaria and Sonderberg in the form of this excellent CD. What starts as an obscure collection of abandoned memories and improvised calmness – not too far away from a cleaner version of AMM – gradually evolves into something more “environmental”; the second and third movements sound like an incessant wind that’s broken only by distant muffled explosions and heavy rain – but it could be just my imagination transforming Dropp’s bowing, rubbing and scraping of their variegated sources into dark, anti-harmonic yet extremely appealing acoustic biosystems. One feels quite alone during “The empire builders”, incapable of figuring out the reasons of an unhurried sense of ineluctability.
THE EASTERN SEABOARD – Relapse (Tigerasylum)
My first meeting with both label and band, which is in part equivalent here as double bassist Jordon Schranz – besides being one third of the sonic entity – is the man in charge of this contemporary jazz imprint from New York that tries to bring to a wider attention the music of artists from the Bushwick and Williamsburg areas of Brooklyn. The job is performed by releasing small editions of vinyl albums and CDRs of which Schranz curates the packaging and artwork; this particular sleeve features a multiple image of American sprinter Tommie Smith while famously raising his black-gloved fist after winning the Olympic gold medal in 1968. The Eastern Seaboard (graphically rendered as eASTERN sEABOARD everywhere, don’t ask me why) are a trio which includes Brent Bagwell on tenor sax and Seth Nanaa on drums. What’s immediately evident is the “bitterness” of the sound, a soulful yet sort-of-devastated consciousness that depicts the future awaiting certain segments of humanity as even bleaker than the (already hard enough) present day. These guys refuse to kowtow to serenity, many moments of their inspired interplay residing among the best jazz-related improvisations heard recently. We’re given takes as they were recorded, the musicians commenting and chuckling about what they played, the switch of the tape separating the tracks like in a demo. Bagwell is a well-aware ponderer, passionate and at the same time detached; Schranz’s arco work reaches impressive depths in several occasions, dark harmonics and droning accompaniments at times an authentic thing of beauty; Nanaa is just perfect for the role, underlining and collating with sensitive application and drawling independence. To quote another Brooklyn icon: “He got a little nick in the ear, and he quit. Big deal!”. The Eastern Seaboard certainly don’t look like quitters; they’ll punch reality through your skull without the need of screaming too much.
THE FONDA/STEVENS GROUP – Trio (Not Two)
A nice live set, recorded in 2006 at the Alchemia in Krakow (Poland), showcases the transparent jazz perspective of pianist Michael Jefry Stevens and bassist Joe Fonda, who penned three tunes apiece in this CD; for this particular event they were helped by Harvey Sorgen on drums. Stevens declares himself as more and more worried about the state of our planet’s health, at the same time being convinced that music on the level of excellence might actively contribute to a betterment of the perceptiveness of the ones who can be reached by it. In that sense, he strives to compose scores as much evolved as he can. His interaction with Fonda is articulate, elaborately branched, the tracks mostly born from ideas that wander around a bass vamp or a brain-retainable chord sequence over which the group develops fine textures of thematic sapience spiced by Tyneresque progressions and concretely palpable lines able to transcend the canons of swinging expectancy. Fonda’s interrelation with Sorgen is also noteworthy, the couple establishing a very lively duo conversation in “From the Source”, while the most intense Stevens moods have to be individuated in the reminiscent melancholy of “The Search”. The unit looks just handsome, complete self-command and reversing currents of conscious communication at the basis of a record that’s as easily drinkable as fresh water despite its insightful correspondences.
THE FRICTION BROTHERS – The Friction Brothers (Abstract On Black)
The Friction Brothers are the trio of Michael Colligan (dry ice, implements), Fred Lonberg-Holm (cello, implements) and Michael Zerang (percussion, piano insides). The “implements” are scrupulously listed on the sleeve, too many to be named here; sure enough, they sound as the name reveals: by friction, naturally (more about that later). But I had to take a look at another review of this CD to understand how in the world one can make music with dry ice, as the only thing that came to mind after reading was the picture of Rick Wakeman and Chris Squire surrounded by that element during “Starship Trooper”. Seriously, Colligan gets those whistling-and-squealing emissions from a couple of pre-heated teakettles moved and/or dragged across – you guessed it – the dry ice. The same result, it says, may be obtained with frying pans, spoons, mouthpieces and other assorted objects. Enlightening, indeed. The integration of this sonic microcosm with Lonberg-Holm’s manipulation of his “implemented” instrument – by now a long-gone simulacrum of a cello in terms of absurdist scratching and wailing harmonics – and Zerang’s celebrated propensity for the dangerous zones of contaminated insubordination produces adequately coherent results as far as the overall homogeneity is concerned, a whole orchestra of suffering metals, crackled paintings and mismanaged regularity rising from the ashes of what was once designed as “counterpoint”. Regarding the aspect of sheer gratification, well – this is stuff for courageous and not excessively demanding (meaning “wishing for timbral indulgence”) listeners, not a single moment of compromise to aural ease in sight throughout the disc.
THE FRONT ROOM ENSEMBLE – Fylkingen lightbox (Flying Aspidistra)
The Front Room Ensemble is a tentet comprising Johan and Andreas Berthling, Thomas Hallonsten, Martin Küchen, Herman Müntzing, Sten Sandell, Amit Sen, Peter Söderberg and David Stackenäs (plus Fred Lonberg-Holm as a “lightbox operator”). Piano and guitars mark the beginning of the record, tangential oscillating melodies and virulent string rust caressed by a low rumble similar to the wind on a microphone capsule amidst the noise of distant traffic. Through various kinds of harmonic clangour, plucks, stings and snaps are handpicked between airy wailings and chirpy ostinatos, then electronics appear to deform the overall shape of the moment. Skeletal, yet lively dialogues between guitar and accordion are also noticed in this intriguing fragmentation of orchestrated mayhem, which ends with Küchen squawking and crying for help, only to be submerged by the rest of the group in a dramatic mess. The musicians are often found counterchanging parts in collinear improvisational method, with more contrasting dynamics including several moments of almost complete silence. Elsewhere, the strange voice of Müntzing’s flexichord gradually leaves room to drones, buzzes and low-register piano notes besides the chatter of strings and reed, everything ending with final considerations that sound doubtfully suspended, to say the least. Minimal obscurity gets instantly abandoned in favour of sudden outbreaks and cheap remembrances that burn like a gravelrash. Overall, this is an album of unrestful, at times serendipitous music that goes much deeper than many holier-than-thou useless ceremonials. All the Flying Aspidistras are precious little gems that should be brought to the attention of a wider audience.
THE GEORDIE APPROACH – Why eye (Bruce’s Fingers)
The seven tracks comprised by this lively release are named after soccer stars from various eras who have played with Newcastle (for the oh-so-curious ones: Beardsley, MacDonald, Keegan, Gascoigne, Shearer, Milburn, Robson), hence the album’s title. This curiosity aside, The Geordie Approach is the trio of two Norwegians, Petter Frost Fadnes (alto sax, electronics) and Ståle Birkeland (drums, percussion) plus Leeds guitarist Chris Sharkey, who also uses electronics. We could define “Why eye” as an interesting experiment of dissident improvisation where a post rock influence is certainly the most evident trait, this assumption corroborated by the great relevance given to Sharkey’s stringed depictions of surreal atmospheres where pseudo-calm elucubrations are disturbed by their Mr.Hyde versions (pitch transposing and mutated delays are pretty frequent in the menu, most notably in “Keegan”). But when the going gets tough, cascades of distortion, rumbling rolls and dirty-as-a-tennis-sock utterances coalesce into a turbulent cauldron where moderation is not an option (“Shearer”), with sweat and blood dripping out of a sonic mass whose formula is something around the lines of “take no prisoners”. Bleak-skinned loops and additional deformations are to be found in the medium-danger “Milburn” before Birkeland decides again that drums can be a destructive weapon, while “Gascoigne” shows quite a bit of technical dexterity from all the players. All in all, a nice handful of spiky timbral explorations – picture the out-of-wedlock son of a Massacre/Rob Mazurek date minus the trumpet – which leaves me hopeful enough for future developments.
(THE) GIANTS OF GENDER – (The) Giants of Gender (Edgetone)
Don’t ask me the reason for the parentheses. The group’s members: Andy Meyer (reeds), Kyle Farrell (vibraphone, percussion) and Jenna Barvitski (violin, viola). Reticent at times, suspicious never, the music of this excellent trio mixes the austerity of “serious” composition and the moderate freedom of controlled improvisation performed by technically advanced players whose ears are open to any influence without preclusions. A comparison that sprang to mind – especially during “Go barefoot”- was Motor Totemist Guild, although the Giants are probably a little more linear, so to speak, in their exposition. A deep discernment transpires from these pieces, which never transcend to that ghastly immaturity spotting the skin of tortuous-minded-therefore-malfunctioning collectives that don’t know how to behave when the horses try to escape. On the contrary, this ensemble bases most everything upon a conscientious give-and-take, maintaining level-headedness and elegance as foundations of the instinctive creation. Their playing is populated by suggestions and vignettes that gradually develop into a fully realized concept which can sound galvanizing, or just a curiosity, but never fails to elicit interest in the listener. It’s great when one’s able to enjoy non-commercial expressions that don’t necessarily sound pernickety, hence my positive response to the clearly visible strategies of these artists, who confirm that a liverish attitude won’t necessarily yield inspiring music.
THE INFANT CYCLE – Ephedrin bird samba (The Locus of Assemblage)
A title like this is usually not likely to announce a rape date with the dark clouds of noisy stupor that this mini CD contains. If this music could just dazzle with modulating buzzes and droning distortion, it also delivers through rhythmic acceleration – like at the record’s beginning, where fake samba rhythms REALLY sound on pills. Without too much of a brainwashing, The Infant Cycle gets listeners by the throat with raucous smoothness and oleaginous drains filled with splattered grey matter. The result – as in most of Locus’ releases – is addictive and well crafted.
THE INFANT CYCLE – Playout (Zhelezobeton)
Jim De Jong – deus ex machina of The Infant Cycle – is one of those musicians who apply intelligence to those species of sound that otherwise would appear as normal, even predictable, thus transforming a few elements into a stimulating listening experience. Then again he releases short records, which is also a smart move considering how easy it is to remain entangled in boredom’s tentacles when dealing with repetitive structures. The Infant Cycle’s products mostly belong to turntablism; the only sources used by De Jong in “Playout” are a carved vinyl record groove and the “operational sounds” of a record player, enhanced by a violin bow and a razor blade). I’d also say that there are effects in there, but I won’t bet my house on it. The 30 minutes are divided exactly – 15 minutes per track – and both pieces are intriguing. “How to bow a tone arm” uses the noise of the carved groove as a cyclic rhythm upon which lunar frequencies and nocturnal atmospheres launch the music into an unsettling growth of regular insanity that mixes Esplendor Geometrico and early Zoviet France, while “Skinning the platter” is a little scarcer at the beginning – the turntable’s noise clicking like a water drop – then augments its speed until we arrive at the borders between non-harmonic electronica and sheer noise, but always with large doses of calmness and, should I say, class. At whisper volume, the sounds heard starting around the ninth minute can recall distant frogs in the silence of the night, but we soon go back to square one. Very, very nice.
THE INFANT CYCLE / ARC – Periodical II (The Ceiling)
The Ceiling has an ongoing series of split 3-inch CDs involving The Infant Cycle with other Canadian artists working in the same areas of experimental music. These releases are meant to set interesting collaborations between entities “working outside existing genres and subgenres”. This particular disc is a very enjoyable one, as The Infant Cycle have re-elaborated a series of past tracks into a wholly new creature. An initial series of skips, loops and gentle noises leaves the scene to an array of hypnotic deformities ranging from the sweetly sinister to the moderately industrial. Nothing too harsh, everything totally endearing. ARC released a great album on Small Voices in 2005, “The circle is not round” (see review). The track presented here was one of the basics for that CD, being the usual fetching mixture of loops and gentle percussion, fragmented and pasted until it becomes a tapestry for oneiric activities. Since less than 20 minutes of this excellent material is not enough for this writer, once again the “repeat” function is recommended (looks like I’ve recently activated my own “repeat” too about this matter…or is this a way to avoid the commonplace “repays repeated listenings”?)
THE INFANT CYCLE / ANTMANUV – Periodical III (The Ceiling)
The latest chapter in the “Periodical” 3-inch CD series by The Ceiling is on the short side, but the mere 14 minutes of this disc are inversely proportional to the quality of the music presented. The Infant Cycle’s “Unrelated work tapes 11/25/06″ is a compelling pulse-based track where “birds, cookery, carved vinyl record playout groove, electric guitar, shortwave and feedback generators” create a sustained repetition that could recall both Paul Schütze and Tuxedomoon at a first glance, but after repeated tries the piece subtends a life and a sound completely of its own – and fascinating, too. Antmanuv’s “Beyond the garden” gathers urban field recordings made in Cambridge, Ontario in 2004 that the composer “stabilizes” into a splendid loop until the end of the track: birds, train horns and distant engines define the mental borders of an apparently endless recurrence, which instead leaves us asking for more after about eight minutes.
THE INFANT CYCLE / UPHOLD – Our past present (now then) (Afe)
This split release consists of a pair of 3-inch CDs. While I am familiar with The Infant Cycle’s production, as Jim De Jong’s creations have repeatedly been reviewed on these shores, this is my first approach to Uphold aka Muffy St.Bernard. Their styles are very different, but the whole works well for the large part. De Jong’s “Unrelated Work Tapes 7/7/04” is a piece for cymbal, water tank, record player operational sounds, Korg Poly-800, lovebirds and carved vinyl record playout groove, quite typical for The Infant Cycle in its bewitching allure that meshes various ingredients into a cauldron where hypnosis, turntablism and industrial features become a single colour, the final result highly engaging and definitely personal. St.Bernard’s four tracks give instead the idea of a mini-movie, as instruments, field recordings and pre-existent voices lead our brain towards the nowhere of significance. At one point, I was so mesmerized by the apparent nonsense of certain repetitions, I couldn’t decide if what I was hearing was too simple to accept a description or just nullifying my thoughts; one’s left even more anguished in the final minutes of the disc. Music that is intense and uninviting at one and the same time but, this notwithstanding, we all know that – aesthetic pleasures or not – if something stimulates a reaction, then it means that it’s good enough.
THE INFANT CYCLE / DRONÆMENT – Split (Cohort)
This has to be one of the finest instalments of Cohort’s Split series; the only thing I really abhor is a mastering job that cuts the continuity of the drones, which – especially in Dronæment’s case – is an utter shame. But the value of the music remains integral nonetheless. The Infant Cycle’s three tracks are vaguely more dramatic, mechanically cyclical in a way; their foundations, which consist of cheap keyboards, trains, guitar and a Korg Poly 800 synthesizer, by some means attribute a compactness to the pieces that made me think of realities such as Esplendor Geometrico at first, soon vanishing to history when the spellbinding allure of the concoction takes full charge, putting the senses in a state of drowsy acceptance of the surrounding events. The second half of the disc sees Dronæment concerned with the management/looping of field recordings and the deployment of hissing tapes; he performs the task brilliantly, listeners at total ease amidst sources ranging from superb forest birds to human voices seamed and repeated ad infinitum. A sort of caressing psychedelic continuum that lulls into rational forgetfulness, definitely included in the best things I’ve heard from this artist.
THE INTERNATIONAL NOTHING – Mainstream (Ftarri)
“Mainstream” is the result of the search for the “delicate pleasures one might not associate with clarinet duos” by Michael Thieke and Kai Fagaschinski. Contrarily to what one could expect, the compositions are more timbrally defined than oriented to the exploration of the cavities and valves of the instrument, representing a cycle of pretty minimal structures where the clarinet tones work “together and against”, often hinting to new forms of songs. In a word, we hear more notes than air this time, but those notes are persuasive on the psyche in different ways. Straightforward lines become an airplane rumble in “Love tone”, where the duo is aided and abetted by the double basses of Christian Weber and Derek Shirley, while Margareth Kammerer lends her frail voice (and guitar) in the exquisite “And the morning”, complemented by the background hush of the neighbourhood (several of the pieces were recorded at the artists’ homes). Christof Kurzmann’s voice and remix exertions are featured in the final “Hauntissimo”. But, illustrious guests aside, it’s Fagaschinski and Thieke’s playing that really captures the attention, their analysis of timbral gradations showing the finest properties of thought-out-in-advance improvisation, which is probably the best method of taking virtual photographs of a pure creative act that ideally shouldn’t even be recorded. But hearing the beating frequencies and cyclically regular howls generated by the couple is pure pleasure, which puts all this theoretical nattering away while inviting us to repeat the experience. Play it “semi-loud” for the best effect.
THE JONES O’CONNOR GROUP – A crow for every crow (Joc)
I’m a child of the 60s, therefore every artistic expression related to that decade or the subsequent one is welcome by this heart with an increase in the number of beats. Then again, South Wales is showing unexpected fangs: in the last three years or so, there hasn’t been a release from that territory that wasn’t cherished here, especially when I think of someone like Gareth Roberts and his great “Attack of the Killer Penguins”. Here lies a link with the Jones O’Connor Group – a quartet co-led by pianist Paul Jones and guitarist Richard Jones aided by Mark O’Connor on drums and Chris O’Connor on double bass – as PJ and the rhythm section are also part of the Gareth Roberts Quintet “and loads of other bands”, as I’m told. This particular ensemble arrives at the second chapter after their debut “Alpha”; five tracks were penned by Paul and the remaining four by Richard. There’s such a wealth of recalls and influences in this music that is indeed difficult to believe that this is a 2007 album. But the young age of the members, their enthusiastic application to the matter and the desire to individuate new solutions within old formulas makes sure that the listeners receive fresh material, not some faded replica of a past that won’t return. Richard Jones’ phrasing might at times be reminiscent of Phil Miller’s cultivated fretwork in many and one Canterbury recording, and the fruitful interplay between the O’Connors encloses abundant doses of elegance and refinement. Paul Jones lacquers the action with discreet thematic choices and chordal progressions that could appeal to fans of Dave Stewart and Eumir Deodato alike (listen to “Pumpkin”, which indeed seems to incarnate both worlds). A very nice effort whichever way we look at it, confirmation of the current richness of young talents in British “progressive jazz”.
THE KBD SONIC COOPERATIVE – [Four plus one] (Eh?)
KBD stands for (Michael) Kimaid, (Gabe) Beam and (Ryan) Dohm, that is to say the calm traffickers in charge of this manufactured article where “electroacoustic” is a designation that, more than anywhere else, finds a raison d’etre. As a matter of fact, the timbral array includes drums, percussion, signals, strings, horns, electronics, objects, trumpet, cello and no-input mixer. The trio prefers long-lasting courses to let their jargon evolve, the durations ranging from 5 to 31 minutes. The resulting potion is a very pleasurable one, in truth: spare instrumental touches and slices of freely resonant metal are often present, but soon substituted (or accompanied) by cycles of tones and hums that Tod Dockstader would approve with a sardonic smile. What the Cooperative does really well is “not exceeding”: these guys do have a sense of self-discipline, which suggests them when a terrain has by now adequately explored, so they dispose of that interest and shift their curiosity upon something else, usually equally attention-grabbing. The purr and the clink, the static and the segmented, the logical and the unclassifiable live together effortlessly, making for a five-track assortment that bears frequent spins and by no means outstays its welcome, yet another attestation of the total impracticality of demarcating this label’s scope of sonic accomplishment.
THE LATE SEVERA WIRES – Three minutes a second (High Mayhem)
The Late Severa Wires are Yozo Suzuki (guitar), Mike Rowland (drums), Carlos Santistevan (bass) and Ultraviolet (turntables). Together since 2001, the band arrives at the first studio album after trimming down 17 hours of sessions and deciding to publish the result on vinyl only (a limited edition of 750 copies) because “their music’s warmth, vibration and sense of space are lost in CD and MP3 recordings”. “Three minutes a second” is a record whose aspects range from noisy freeform rock to inward-looking atmospheres where the manipulation of pre-existing sources (mostly due to Ultraviolet’s turntablism, which can be heard at its best in the final track “Like shedding”) represents a basic element in a series of altered states where the hallucinogenic obsessiveness that’s typical of the most intriguing psychedelia is rendered a little more aleatory and diverse. Explosions of fractal rhythms, peculiar dissonances, speeded-up voices and roaring clangours follow their own logic; yet, at the same time, everything seems dictated by an unhurried timing which indeed appears somehow linked to a greater scheme of things. Music that should be appreciated by lovers of Krautrock, fans of early “cosmic couriers” and aficionados of semi-structured improvisation, but also tending to that area of wasted sonic detritus which sometimes hides rough diamonds covered with mud. As long as you don’t expect miracles (like “tapping into the vibration of the fucking universe”, as per Santistevan’s words, but we’re not quite there) this is a nice LP.
THE MAGIC I.D. – Till my breath gives out (ErstPop)
Two clarinets, one per stereo channel (Kai Fagaschinski, Michael Thieke), two vocalists (Margareth Kammerer, also on guitar, and Christoph Kurzmann, also on G3 and Lloopp software). The Magic I.D. came together in the summer of 2005, are mostly based in Berlin and keen on overlapping the unfussiness of a pop tune and the nuances of sophisticated configurations of contemporary improvisation. One feels like looking for buried secrets and curled smoke behind a rather simple façade, but that’s not the case: the record is indeed straightforward in its constituents, all clearly deployed and very visible. Then again, that music should unavoidably be complicated to bring fulfilment has become an invalid theory even in intellectually bent circles. Kammerer’s acoustic strumming and frail vocal tone sometimes recall her earlier work in “To be an animal of real flesh” (not coincidentally released on Kurzmann’s own Charhizma label), giving the idea of an unadulterated approach to songwriting. No finesse, lots of purity. A few traps to the linearity of the tunes are set up by the Austrian, who proceeds to enhance, cuddle and slap a bit, adding a touch of unfamiliarity to relatively standard principles besides lending his crooning. The reed combine of Fagaschinski and Thieke maintains the whole in indefinite suspension between different textural worlds, letting the songs float around rickety tonal centres whose potential dissolution should constitute the remuneration for the tolerance of an audience who used to look for hitches and now finds only a somewhat humpbacked, if heart-warming lyricism.
THE MICROSCOPIC SEPTET – History of the Micros, Vol.1: Seven men in neckties (Cuneiform) – History of the Micros, Vol.2: Surrealistic swing (Cuneiform)
This couple of 2-CD sets represents everything that The Microscopic Septet put on record from 1980 to 1990, namely their complete LPs “Let’s flip”, “Take the Z train”, “Off beat glory” and “Beauty based on science”, plus several previously unreleased tracks. This eclectic band, co-fronted by saxophonist Phillip Johnston and pianist Joel Forrester, was the only combo that kept traditional jazz and new tendencies boiling in the same cauldron by playing music whose motto, according to Johnston, was “break all the rules and respect all the saints”. Indeed they were doing just that. Other members of the Micros in their different incarnations included Dave Sewelson, George Bishop, John Zorn (that’s right) John Hagen, Don Davis and Paul Shapiro on saxophones, Dave Hofstra on bass, Bobby De Meo and Richard Dworkin on drums. To say that the Microscopic Septet was made of musicians who can really play their instruments would be an utter understatement. This is a band that swings, yes – but it also rocks, tangoes and polkas with the same ease, delivering us from any affliction deriving from mundane life facts, washing our face with the fresh water of joyfulness and sardonic smiles. They sound like a cross of Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Stan Kenton and Thelonious Monk in Latin sauce – but they also quote “Hey Jude” and Frank Zappa’s “Zomby Woof” for good measure. The Micros are astonishingly coordinated, their sense of rhythm an ever-present teaching for those “virtuosos” who have no idea about what to do when an odd metre comes around. The pieces are tightly arranged and executed, sounding inextricable and relaxed at the same time; there’s an overall aura of divertissement that renders these four discs a must, much in the way of those fabulous Spike Jones albums that one plays when down and troubled, minus the honks and boings. The amicable give-and-take between the different sections literally modifies our circuits, setting all our potentiometers on the “I-want-more-Klezmer-and-Basie-and-TV movie themes” level. Indeed, the Septet’s greatest gift (to us, I mean) is their ability to further open the mind of poor “avant-only” anal retentives who won’t accept anything that came earlier than Albert Ayler; one thing is smirking ironically when hearing “In the Mood” in a black-and-white movie, another one is finding yourself dancing around the room because a full-blast brass riff broke into your life while you were practicing Buddhist meditation after reading about it on a Cosmopolitan article. Still feeling disappointed after listening to these GREAT four CDs? Bring on the coroner, you’re dead already. Jazz reissue of 2006, hands down.
THE MIGHTY VITAMINS – Take out (Public Eyesore)
Expect no less than the totally unexpected from Public Eyesore. The Mighty Vitamins are the quintessential specimen of Bryan Day’s label’s warped poetry; a quartet of multi-instrumentalist, multi-faceted, multi-specialized artists who torture various appliances and machines (including a few “normal” instruments) to generate “songs” in which the oxidation process of intellectual integrity has come to an alarming level – I’d say that it is about to explode into degeneration, but we’re not quite there. If you read the curricula of Jerry Johnston, Jay Kreimer, Brad Krieger and Luke Polipnick you’ll be surprised at how apparently regular folks with a regular job (well, sort of…) and less-than-usual interests can produce such a wealth of lively non-idiomatic improvisations; indeed they perform the task smoothly, at times winking to Captain Beefheart, more often in total, indestructible anarchy. What typically could be considered as disadaptive becomes the rule: guitars sound detuned even when they’re not, children lullabies are tampered into fuzzy rants, voices are disfigured until they behave like ectoplasmatic utterances. The guys are well experienced as far as modern art is concerned, and it shows. The dynamics are at times explosive, the frequencies often mind-wrecking; there is no trace of virtuosity in sight, yet one easily feels that The Mighty Vitamins can play. This group separate their music’s spirit from any predetermined context, all the while allowing their sounds to expand and move according to predestroyed rules.
THE MISSING ENSEMBLE – Zeropolis (Low Impedance)
The Missing Ensemble is a Canadian project by Daniel De Los Santos, John Sellekaers and Mathias Delplanque. “Zeropolis” is my first contact with their music, which is an interesting amalgam of various influences and sources (mostly treated field recordings and regular instruments, in a few instances played by guest musicians, but you might have a hard time recognizing their timbres). The initial “Old York” is a very impressive, almost theatrical piece in which echoes from the outside world and huge subterranean thumps mix in a growing tension that literally breaks the dam of noise at one point, recalling some of Francisco Lopez’s most enthralling crescendos. “A long walk” starts with a gorgeous ominous drone, not distant from certain Hafler Trio pages but with an additional touch of mystery, blemished by distant squealing sounds that are probably produced by Lenny Gonzales’ guitar, but I wouldn’t bet my house on it; very effective and powerful, especially when the ground under your feet begins to tremble thanks to roaring pulses from the centre of the earth. “Attaining Pt.1″ is an example of “dirty minimal movement”, featuring Ernst Karel’s processed trumpet sounding like a dozen squirrels singing a mantra while stuffed into in a pitch-shifting toaster; it could be an appealing moment for fans of early Koji Asano. Instead, “Attaining Pt.2″ ends the disc on a menacing note, the same squirrels petrified in terror by wavering noirish distortions in the low-frequency region. Let me stress that, despite the above mentioned famous names, this is not your average photocopy of something already established: the Missing Ensemble try and subvert a few rules on their own terms, suceeding for the large part of this well conceived release.
THE MPTHREE – Sleep cells (Utech)
A sort of “Massacre meets Forever Einstein” raw trio with some measure of finesse and improvisational skills fired by the enthusiasm of children at play; this is what The MPThree (Mike Pride on drums, Mary Halvorson on guitar, Trevor Dunn on bass) sound like. Halvorson’s lines are the lead voice: clean-toned, dissonant zigzags and single-note ingenuity byproducts are put across pitch-transposing devices to recall a deformed reproduction of Henry Kaiser wearing flip-flops even during the winter season. Pride and Dunn are powerfully loquacious, their interplay granular and dirty in a complimentary sense, the sound of bass and percussion alternatively crunchy, sensitively focused on the intelligent destruction of useless quadratures, cliché-free. The final track is a collective, full-blast scream which devastated my ears. The bootleg-like quality of the recording is the icing on a cake of stray uneasiness.
THE NESHAMA ALMA BAND WITH ZZAJ – 2 JOIN OCCULT (Zzaj / Pax Recordings)
Rotcod Zzaj (keys), Ernesto Diaz-Infante (vocals, acoustic guitar, 4-track and sampler) and Marjorie Sturm (Flute and lyrics) are the untouchable perpetrators of more aural rape from the fantastic independent underworld of Anti-Americana (or “new ways of using a few, poor means for the most stunning creative results”). In the Neshama post-alcoholic environment there are loads of cassette distortions, arrangements built on reverse-tape harmonic masturbations, guitar arpeggios suddenly crunched by horrible drum machines and low-budget synth presets that are next to sublime. I just love this stuff and anyone who ever tried to do something at home with cheap machines and kid-like enthusiasm will agree; the insubstantial rant of Ernesto’s hypnotic voice is like Charon leading innocent listeners to the pleasures of a gastroscopic trip to unpredictability.
THE NEVERMET ENSEMBLE – Quarto escuro (Rudimentol)
Portuguese label Rudimentol is the place where experimental music can be directed to the future even while being influenced from the past. This peculiar work, elaborated via mail by musicians that don’t know each other (hence the project name), mixes echoes of progressive rock a la Van Der Graaf Generator, random acoustic procedures, space music and convergences of strange oscillations with carillon-like lazy melodies. It’s a disorienting pot pourri where an African kalimba, a distorted guitar power chord and the singing of a little baby can be in unpredictable succession with orchestral samples reverberating like if played in a giant tank, all of this suddenly voided by a low frequency hum. Besides Miguel Cabral – head of the label – the only involved artists that I knew before are Godfried-Willem Raes and Josh Ronsen, but make no mistake: this is an extremely pleasant concoction.
THE NORDIC MIRACLE – We shall provide (Humbug)
Tore Honorè Boe and Lasse Marhaug are just credited with “noise” on the cover – that says it all. Recorded live in three different occasions between 2000 and 2001, “We shall provide” is the perfect way to get your feet wet in the realm of absolute, total, real “noise”; but this particular expressive method seems to have a well-defined goal, like if this mass of metal-fusing shrieking energy was created with the only purpose of filling every single hole, without leaving room to any kind of thought. That said, Lasse and Tore certainly aren’t jack of all trades; their sound sources and the relative given treatment are enough to make our belly full of dissonance and harshness for weeks. This is not the kind of run-down chaos made by cracked pretenders: you must listen carefully and get the full details – and there are many – to get your chance of entering a completely new dimension of air movement.
THE OCCASIONAL QUARTET – Desire lines (Loose Torque)
The name of the group, which was formed in 2001 by tenor saxophonist Garry Todd – owner of one of the most nervous styles on the reed market, a truly unstoppable force – refers both to the rarity of their gigs (less than once a year, it says on the cover) and to the “special occasions” in which they reunite. Such was the participation at the 2006’s edition of the Freedom of the City” festival, an event that convinced the quartet’s members to perform a preliminary warm-up, duly recorded by bassist and label honcho Nick Stephens, whose meat-grinding pluck-and-arco hybrid causes a low-frequency boom in well determinate sections. The results of that session can be heard in this CD, and affirming that this music is “energizing” and “talkative” is reductive to say the least. Indeed, there is the risk of a communication overload: not a moment of “stop and take a breath”, if not for – ahem – occasional circumstances where the torrential expressiveness of the instrumentalists remains confined into slightly more tranquil settings. Propelled by Tony Marsh’s mercurial drumming, strongly characterized by the now-shrieking-now-nicer violin masterfully raped by Nigel Coombes (was that a quote from “Psycho” around 11’30” of the first track, Nigel?), these two long improvisations call for attention any minute, preventing the listeners from even thinking to anything else. Like brats who keep pulling dad’s jacket in order for him to buy the umpteenth toy, with the difference that The Occasional Quartet are the ones doing the kick-ass in this case.
THE ORATORY OF DIVINE LOVE – Purgatorio (Waystyx)
Even if the content of this disc – dated 2006 but completely escaping my attention then – derives from heavily processed radio sounds and, accordingly, a trained ear can catch glimpses of famous songs wrapped by a thick haze of reverb (I, for one, managed to spot KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Please don’t go”), its character recalls something like channel-surfing in a dark tunnel – cars continuously passing by – or maybe the experiment of someone who stuck a microphone outside a window trying to record the urban activities in all their richness of superimposing washes, whooshes and hums. In general, what we hear might vaguely be associated to the power of an enraged ocean, or remind us of a strong wind which transports voices, calls and noises from a not-so-distant world. Nothing new under the sun of drone, we should say; yet this time the concoction satisfied this writer’s needs in full, so much that I felt the urge of playing the CD several times to see if more secrets could be revealed. Indeed listening by headphones brings out a few hidden details, yet the resonant force of this stuff is obviously better served by allowing the variable mass to spread through your environment, especially in a grey rainy day. Rather than a purgatory, you’ll have a clear idea of the moments preceding the apocalypse. Very well made, definitely interesting music from one of the many artistic personae of John Gore (Kirchenkampf), the actual reason for the good quality perceived here. Trust me – the guy is serious.
THE RATIONAL ACADEMY – A heart against your own (Someone Good)
I had to think hard before committing myself to write about this CD, a work that doesn’t truly belong in Touching Extremes as primarily consisting of six-stringed pop songs, with a modicum of electronic tampering complementing the whole. Yet “A heart against your own” is so lovely that it deserves a mention cum encouragement from this not-getting-any-younger complainer. People, let’s insert The Rational Academy in a gap of our nerdy collection, as Benjamin Thompson and Meredith McHugh are accomplished tune writers who decorate the fruits of their work with candid arpeggios (whose shimmering coronae aren’t really Sonic Youth-like, but rather well-dressed and often singularly suggestive) and finger-press innocent voices right into the open wounds of a dejected afternoon. In terms of exquisite reverberation, “2004” is maybe the record’s zenith, but also rocking tracks such as “Two books” are not that bad – they’re in fact pretty convincing. The initial “The author” (Dan and Nate: cheers!) might happen to become a hit single somewhere outside the confines of corporate po(o)p. Illustrious participants include Lawrence English and Ben Frost, on electronics and guitar respectively. It’s that weird nostalgic fragrance that renders the disc all the more attractive, though, the out-of-this-world loops halfway through “Squid & whale” an emblematic thing of beauty. And it lasts 33 minutes – just perfect.
DOUG THERIAULT / BRYAN EUBANKS – Big clouds in the sky today (Creative Sources)
Interference knows no hesitation, manifesting itself through circumstantial entanglements of unusual phenomena which may or may not be caused by human choices. Through their work with electronics, controlled by a sensor guitar and by an “open circuit” respectively, Theriault and Eubanks give birth to an earnest album of incendiary dissonance; yet, the desperate anguish of extended distorted frequencies and incumbent radioactive rainfalls often finds openings towards a strange agonizing calm, in which the “big clouds” seem to leave some space to the noise of a motor airplane in between the siren-like calls of distant car alarms whose battery will die only after an eternity of tormented ecstasy. Discouraging any try to transform their sound in a cheap appreciation of the mere experiment, the couple works intently trying to dictate some new rules for the abrasion of tranquillity, leaving our ear-aching pretence of knowledge without its crutches when silence finally falls.
THE SAME GIRL – Spare parts & the ideology toolkit (Schraum)
Gilles Aubry (computer) and Nicolas Field (percussion) took their project’s name from the occasion in which they met while courting the same girl. We don’t know who prevailed in that case, but surely the music they do is worth of careful attention. Colonies of android insects and acid rain falling from metallic skies alternate with treated field recordings made by the duo in Russia and Croatia; drum eruptions a la Carl Palmer are overwhelmed by disturbing chattering and visions of extinct animals whose ashes remain stuck on our skin. In some instances, distant rumbles calm the overall pace of the album, just to be replaced after a few seconds by a cross of Edgar Varese-like percussive outbursts and cheap imitations of a nuclear-powered shuttle whose launch has been delayed because the astronauts aboard were eating popcorn instead of following the countdown. We detect a keen sense of humour even in the most dramatic sections, and that’s a sure sign of intelligence; these manipulators of reality have their own unique vision which is a pleasure to share.
THE SCHIZO QUARTET – Don’t answer it (Loose Torque)
A quartet that’s indeed a duo (John Corbett on trumpet, Nick Stephens on acoustic bass) provides nine fruitful improvisations that confirm the quality of this label’s presentations. The encumbrance of a definition does not seem to represent a problem for the players, who jaywalk through paradigmatic phraseologies dismantling known meanings, yet remaining well within the borders of a comfortable conversation that exploits linear dissonances and contrasts in the most logical fashion. A sound technical adroitness fused with reciprocal listening ability traditionally make for excellent results, this album being is no exception; no trace of haughtiness, only the careful analysis of the physics of the instruments graced by an uncanny adeptness in the instantaneous development of short-range melodic fragments, which seamed together generate something similar to immaterial standards. The tracks usually start with tentative approaches that find the participants almost immediately crawling towards larger doses of certainties, never completely abandoning those unknown feelings which prevent us from literally decipher and, if so desired, guess the musicians’ following steps. Corbett and Stephens’ timbres grant aural satisfaction at every twist and turn, a competent demonstration of total control with just a modicum of loose reins, allowing for several moments of substantial mastery. Enjoyed at low level in a silent late night, this was one of the best experiences of my mid-February return to life after heavy flu. Who needs vitamins?
THE SCOTCH OF ST. JAMES – Live at Amplify 2004: addition (Confront)
Under this alias, Tim Barnes (prepared snare drum, amplification) and Mark Wastell (amplified textures, tuned metal) expose different ways of breaking silence with a pretty busy correspondence of endearing sonic oddities. The contrast between tuned and untuned emissions constitutes the most visible nuance in this pretty hermetic effort; most of these sounds affirm their frail independence without the need of grappling to a fake, pre-constituted order. While acute hisses, subterranean pumping and controlled quantities of percussive noises find their way through deserted cathedrals of endangered over-sensitiveness, something that’s noticeably more violent bursts out every once in a while, if only to completely evirate any eventuality of an agreement among the sonic statements. The music is therefore severe and longeval, just like an old science text that gathers dust in a library but remains quintessentially important.
THE SEALED KNOT – Unwanted object (Confront)
This trio, formed by Mark Wastell on double bass, Rhodri Davies on harp and Burkhard Beins on percussion, gets rid of any conceptual rigidity through a concentrated approach to the fine craft of filling voids with additional void. Though not technically over-adorned, the music played by The Sealed Knot answers only a few questions; its greyish atmospheres do not necessarily grant a free pass to any casual bystander. The peculiar mixture between these tense, low-whisper nods and the sense of primal telepathy that these men transmit is the very strength of the CD; during almost 40 minutes, the thin link between “subliminal” and “sublime” makes itself visible in several unbelievable sections, where the instruments morph beautifully: percussion breathes hard, the harp is feedback-wrapped, the bass puts a scarf around its own power to stare seriously amidst the throbbing sound waves. The skeleton born from all these processes is hard-boned and with a mind of his own, already.
THE SEALED KNOT – Confront Performance Series 03 (Confront)
The Sealed Knot are Burkhard Beins (percussion), Rhodri Davies (harp) and Mark Wastell (double bass), in this occasion recorded live at the Red Hedgehog in London, 2006. No economy of energy is applied in the first minutes: Wastell’s rumbling statements and Davies’ malignantly piercing, fibrotic vibrations continue until Beins starts swiping and bouncing all over his set, the trio stopping to contemplate what was generated while dropping single plucks and intravenous harmonics, necessary to keep the flame alive. Sounds flow without compromising to any silent rule, like if an inner stopwatch decided when the time is right for a change of scenario. An example is the gorgeous ceremonial fragment unfolding around the 13/15 minute mark, where we’re tied by a single scope, guided by a bright light that makes no distinction between timbres, allowing us to concentrate on the gathering and release of our dynamic provisions until the intensity grows up almost to David Jackman-like levels. The second set starts with a distinct percussive character, an attractive cross of gamelan-tinged nuances and belltowerish intersections, Davies’ harp strings gorgeously deformed in their ectoplasmic appearance. Here, the players seem to look for any reason to coalesce into a single eruption of endless activity, only to return to those silences where they dip their essence any moment in which necessity calls. The psychological impact of this music is quite strong: every little shade seems to affect our reality until a sense of accomplishment is reached. Everything in this performance reminds us that playing EAI requires concentration and heart, two elements that are also major factors in our reaction to this kind of material, which must be received with completely open channels in order for it to acquire weight in the consciousness. This is not music to remember for “how it sounds”, but because it can make a single big vibration of yourselves. Indeed, when the record ends after a final call-and-response game between the members of the trio, one feels ready to go out running under the cold rain, naked yet invulnerable.
THE TIPTONS – Tsunami (No Man’s Land)
The Tiptons – Amy Denio, Jessica Lurie, Sue Orfield, Tobi Stone on all kinds of saxophone plus Elizabeth Pupo-Walker on percussion – are the logical prosecution of the renowned Billy Tipton Memorial Saxophone Quartet; these girls have the skills and the enthusiasm necessary to tackle – quite impressively – an awful lot of genres, from old-style jazz tinged with Spike Jones-like irony to gypsy dances and east European complexities, also passing through more meditative melodic settings suddenly replaced by gear-shifting thematic quadratures not too far from Lars Hollmer or Jean Derome. The fizzling musicianship of the Tiptons resplends in the beauty of humbleness; they sound just like they really enjoy what they do and the overall health of this lively album benefits conspicuously by their straightforward approach. “Tsunami” does not need much more than these few words to be strongly suggested to all serious lovers of genderless excellence.
MICHAEL THIEKE – Leuchten (Creative Sources)
In improvisation, indeterminacy is often the name of the game but Michael Thieke’s sharp acumen in manoeuvring his alto clarinet through the five tracks of Leuchten is an admonition not to attribute the same mindless definition to every ceremonial, as each sound captured here represents the involuntary determination of a shape in the imaginary void of content of a peaceful setting. Recorded directly to DAT, these perceptive textures are carefully placed in deliberated manipulations of normality: the sprinkling droplets, the knots coming from lingual juggling in a storm of collaborative airy particles, the few “notes” appearing like a prefabrication of coincident events promptly shaved down to the level of bloody skin by a logical destruction, are all part of a coherent attentiveness to elemental activity. Yet the music is malleable, it gurgles like the water remained in the hosepipe after you’ve washed your car in the summer heat: the smell of that hot rubber is able to transform a desolate solitude in the recalling of those psychoacoustic memories that re-awaken your stuttering senses.
MICHAEL THIEKE UNUNUNIUM – Where shall I fly not to be sad, my dear? (Charhizma)
One of the most intriguing reed players around today shows his compositional wisdom through a systematic deployment of sparse elements in rather ample structures, which allow Derek Shirley (bass), Eric Schaefer (drums) and Luca Venitucci (accordion, prepared piano) to entertain advanced dialogues with Thieke, who plays zither in addition to clarinets and saxes. Music with a sort of visual appeal – like a photographic representation of four different musical paths sharing mutual links – incorporating transparent architectures based on a common denominator of sustained tensions, inquisitive scrutiny of the instrumental peculiarities and perfect individuation of the breathing rooms. Even in the most suggestive inventions, coherent delicacies prevail over abstruse difficulty, keeping the comprehension degree at an accessible level while yielding a lyricism whose exhalations pervade the whole album. Not necessarily in dramatic fashion, Unununium present some unusual perspectives without overly trespassing the borders; this CD is probably the best showcase of Thieke’s universe until now.
THINKING PLAGUE – A history of madness (Cuneiform)
Putting into words the ravishing beauty of this material is next to impossible: this is without a doubt the best Thinking Plague album – balanced, difficult yet exceedingly evocative in every single minute. This music moves lots of emotions, at times bringing me back some 25/30 years when as a little kid I remained in silent ecstasy listening to the old masters (think of the creative peaks of Henry Cow, but also Genesis and Yes to get a comparison about the intensity of this CD) – not to mention that maybe Thinking Plague’s charts are even harder! No need to foist cheap tricks on our ears for Mike Johnson, Deborah Perry and the rest of the group: their loftiness makes them towering upon “normal” progressive projects that can’t possibly be compared to such a magnificent compositional dexterity. And what about the sound? Everything’s lodged in its perfect place, wonderfully detailed and craftily planned. “A history of madness” is a riderless horse, a mass of water gurgling into an enormous funnel only to spring out as a magistral architecture. Like magicians, these guys know the formula for appearing and disappearing during a normal life’s course – but when they come back, they release records with a noble scale.
THOLLEM / RIVERA – I’ll meet you halfway out in the middle of it all (Thollem)
It is my great pleasure introducing you to a truly great record, played by a couple of the finest musicians I’ve come across in years: Thollem McDonas (piano and voice) and Rick Rivera (trap set). These 13 songs contain myriads of influences, all sandwiched into a completely personal idiom that Thollem throws around like a Santa Claus does with gifts to kids; his piano figurations, highly skilled and rhythmically challenging, constitute a scintillating harmonic skeleton to a voice that gathers Adrian Belew and Jim Carrey in singing pungent, acute lyrics. Rick’s drumming is on the same level: articulated and fantasy-full, he puts a twisted spin even on the (just) apparently easier sections. Their interplay reaches more than a few snowy highs in this beauty of a CD, where Van Dyke Parks, Kurt Weill, Captain Beefheart, Thelonious Monk and Tom Waits are just a few of the many spiritual godfathers guiding the hands of this exceptional artist. My favourite moments doing my reviewer’s job are like this, the very instant when you come across a genius and are among the first ones to realize and tell the world.
THOLLEM / RIVERA – Everything’s going everywhere (Edgetone)
Picture a strange, good-natured piano freak whose brain is half forged by 20th century classical music while the remaining part shakes minimalism, jazz and (preferably silent) movie soundtracks; add a sensitive drummer, capable of following lead themes straight into inevitability or sharing more than a few moments of silence in a marriage of simultaneous surrealisms. Thollem McDonas and Rick Rivera confirm and reinforce the great impression they made with their debut CD, thanks to this series of canon subversions which sound absolutely natural in their wayside view. Thollem has that rare gift of soulful equilibrium, which he alternates with digital dexterities that have few equals on the current scene; there are a couple of improvisations here where one can’t avoid sticking to the names (Taylor, Kuryokhin, Nancarrow) nevertheless it’s really all McDonas. On his part, Rick’s drumming can be elusive at times – but when the siren of the protagonism calls, transcendental flipouts and marches funebres mix with fractal Rock in Opposition scansions and old fashioned blues patterns in complex mutations of contingencies. Only the last track, “Prisons are neither preventions nor the cure”, features Thollem’s vocals: it’s a Batman theme-like progression sung by a John Cale clone…Time to get famous for these guys.
BILL THOMPSON – Tripartite collision (State Sanctioned)
Excellent music from Bill Thompson, who started as a jazz guitarist but had to give up due to tendonitis; with all due respect, looks like the world of minimal electroacoustic music has gained from Thompson’s loss. The two tracks presented here were conceived according to completely different settings and parameters. The title track is a droning minefield to be crossed with all aerials up, but indeed nothing explodes; it’s a looming mass of subharmonics and flanged frequencies spiced by penetrating highs that rapidly catches our attention and, as soon as our brain adapts to its components, fades to black in all its galvanizing malevolence. “Feb’23rd” is a collaboration between Thompson and Edinburgh’s Found Ensemble, the parts exchanging sound files via internet and setting their own modifications at work during the process. Clocking in at over 32 minutes, the piece offers more space for the ideas to evolve and achieve their self-determination. What sounds like vocal radioactivity is gradually replaced by protuberant discharges and hollow soulless emissions in a sort of heavenward invocation by a malfunctioning robot. Clouds of alluring resonances put our mind in solitary confinement for several minutes, only to be complemented by unhurried series of electronic waves and spiraliform networks that recall Nurse With Wound’s “Soliloquy for Lilith”. It’s the most fascinating section of an overall brilliant record.
BILL THOMPSON – “…of memory and dreams” (7hings)
Scarce advertising kills excellent music. That’s why I don’t excessively love downloadable releases, besides living in a commodity deprived area (no broadband internet). If the kind soul that belongs to “the artist also known as Professor LoFi” hadn’t suggested him to send me this on a CDR, I’d have probably missed a great recording. Because this is great, no questions about it. Lasting just over half an hour, “…of memory and dreams” was commissioned by, and realized for, 7hings in the occasion of the 2007′s Huddersfield’s Contemporary Music Festival. As its originator himself writes, this performance “blurs the boundaries between composition, improvisation and indeterminacy”. Yet, somehow it appears like a preconceived score, each element masterfully placed in a chain of happenings whose common denominator is something that could only be described as “vital flow”. With a few deviations, even less discharges and a mumbling-if-buzzing flux that affirms its gripping beauty in the transcendental final section of the piece, Thompson shows new alternatives to post Keith Rowe-ism, defining the limits of drone-based soundscaping with a pronounced tendency to implosion, withdrawing himself in the closet of the untold while caressing our neural apparatus with some of the most fascinating sounds that a man can muster for a solo exhibition. And he also managed to fit a few welcome birdsongs in there. Scintillating, bright-minded, helplessly questioning sound analysis functioning as therapy against the mental intumescences that daily stupidity systematically generates. After the remarkable “Tripartite Collision” on State Sanctioned, this outing confirms that this gentleman is for real, as one looks forward to discover what’s boiling in his future’s pot.
THRENODY ENSEMBLE – Timbre hollow (All Tomorrow’s Parties/Vital)
Dave Cerf, Erik Hoversten and Dominique Davison play guitars and cello in a very peculiar way, as this music represents a strange mixture of small chamber ensemble, minimalism, post-rock and something around Stars of the Lid and the Penguin Cafè Orchestra. Pretty confusing, huh? In reality, Threnody Ensemble make a very clear statement, that’s playing according the world-famous motto “less is more”. Acoustic and austere, their melodic figures are quite simple, so are their rhythmic schemes, but there’s a strange fascination in “Timbre hollow” that required my complete attention and asked for the music to be enjoyed without thinking too much if it was “this” or “that”; you have just to flow with the slow pulse and wander around, enjoying the delicate atmospheres only seldom broken by a touch of dissonance or by a buzzing of strings. No wonder New Albion first got them aboard.
TIDAL / PETER DUIMELINKS – Ablution (Alluvial)
That’s right, you heard right: another example of 20-minute CD that needs to be listened in “repeat” mode – possibly in the very early hours of the morning – to fully appreciate its profound energy, which in this case is enough to have one’s heartbeat and breath conforming to the subsonic pulse and the suspension created by some astounding underground rumbles. “Ablution” is also made of static high frequencies similar to the noise of pressure in water tubes, metallic tampering, rustling and shaking glass and stones – presumably. Everything sounds like engulfed by a cloud of gas, nebulous halos and hissing auras surrounding all the contours. No points of reference whatsoever, just an indefinite extension of that environmental shadow which wraps the all the best outings of the genre. It’s a CD that should be loved by fans of installation soundworks at large and – although this music is a little more immaterial – of Jonathan Coleclough’s most rarefied, matchless substances.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Adventures in sound/Nachtstücke (Die Stadt)
The label from Bremen is making a big favour to musical culture, as this is the first in a long series of reissues of the old Tietchens solo albums, mostly out of print by now. Today, “Nachtstücke” is still a fascinating record, even after 23 years from its first release: mostly composed on keyboards and synthetic sounds, these pieces – here augmented with bonus material – maintain a very particular, inspiring personality with their oscillating lines, strange chordal juxtapositions and alien counterpoints. One can trace the very first influences of the magnificent sound world that Asmus is building today with his recent stuff. Maybe even more interesting is the archival CD with Okko Bekker and Hans Dieter Wohlmann: pieces recorded in the 1965-69 time span, going from totally free instrumental improvisation to the mangling of fragments of Pink Floyd’s “Interstellar Overdrive” put together with radical tape work. All the resulting material is engaging and ironic at the same time – two characters Tietchens has always showed us in almost forty years of fantastic explorations.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Biotop (Die Stadt)
No one can deny this record is pretty strange at first listen, as Tietchens labours his way through fake drums and several moog versions to play pieces never longer than four minutes. But – analyzing the historical context – you have to realize “Biotop” came out at the beginning of the 80′s, when everything was either saccharine pop muzak or akin to the Cosmic Couriers “involution”, that period in which ideas seemed to be a rare breed. Tietchens just happens to destroy regular melodies: better still, he transforms simple ideas through radical treatments and timbral ubiquity, so that a piece that could belong to Roedelius gets instead ravelled by an alien synthesized patch, becoming a dissonant nightmare. His harmonies are looney, the complex parts still sound fascinating and “stoned” at the same time. But there’s the famous coherence of Asmus, that inner urge of having to go “elsewhere” – or at least in an opposite way from the mass of wannabes – and right there you’ll understand why today the composer from Hamburg is one of the top minds in the alternative music scene. “Biotop” is a fundamental milestone in his growth, even if at first it could sound like a bad joke on your ears: but you’ll get addicted to it.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Spät-Europa (Die Stadt)
The Asmus Tietchens reissue program by Die Stadt keeps going. Originally released in 1981, “Spät-Europa” is a minor classic in its own self; conceived and played on synth, drum machine and vocoder, its absurd harmonies and cyclical themes sound probably more interesting today, just because these concepts were already years ahead all that time ago. I believe most people have some difficulty in grasping Asmus’ acute irony (particularly evident in a track like “Schöne dritte welt”) mistaking it with an untrue goofy simplicity. No – Tietchens is instead a rare case of thinking musician and I dare anyone finding a more recognizable character in contemporary outside music; he’s indeed a genius – and we all know most geniuses suffer from ignorance. To summarize it all, take your earplugs off and enjoy some of the most interesting synth recordings ever come out of Germany: no wonder Brian Eno collaborated with Cluster and not with Tietchens, whose ethics and sounds would have probably overturned the whole “ambient” concept.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – FT+ (Crouton)
Years pass by and Asmus Tietchens’ music keeps its pressure high on us listeners, always fulfilling any expectation. Cynical and impregnable as ever, Asmus reworks his way through Crouton’s “Folk Tales” series – which I hadn’t the pleasure to listen to anyway – leaving you puzzled at first, captured after a while, bewitched at the end. It’s absolutely pointless trying to describe the sounds coming out from this man’s laboratory: they’re all new to ears, have a harmonic status of their own and a sort of “auto-spacing” quality that leaves them mid-air. Like Gremlins posing for a picture only to disappear after you put your eye behind the camera, you’ll see/hear them all around and won’t be able to fix all the things they’ve broken meanwhile; a crazed kitchen sink gurgles and sputters in the background…Another brilliant example of the genius of the Hamburg skeptic, who will continue schlepping countless pathetic imitators after him.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – In die nacht (Die Stadt)
“In die nacht” is probably one of the strangest records to come out of the eighties: it ain’t pop, it’s not exceedingly avantgarde and it was made by someone who had an upcoming deadline to deliver the tapes. All the pieces could be singalong kind of tunes, with a thematic approach almost transforming them to hymns – just listen to “Park und guter morgen”. Yet all this stuff is backed by the most absurd synth patches that permeate the whole recording with an incredibly darkish irony which, I suppose, not many people understood at that time – and probably never will. The ones who know Tietchens well won’t experience surprises: this collection matches perfectly with the rest of the Sky albums by the same artist and it’s another classic stepping stone to future excellence, as the bonus tracks – considered “too experimental” in 1982! – will promptly demonstrate.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Formen letzter hausmusik (Die Stadt)
Considered the first “serious” Tietchens album by many people (although not by me, because I don’t think there’s a “serious/non serious” dichotomy in the Hamburger’s oeuvre), “Formen letzter hausmusik” – first released in 1984 by Steve Stapleton’s United Dairies – is another fundamental piece in the cultural puzzle that Die Stadt is solving through its Asmus Tietchens’ reissue program. Containing old recordings mixed with pieces prepared exclusively for the occasion, this album’s music is haunting and concrete at one and the same time, showing absolutely no influence except for a cynicism which transforms even the most ethereal sounds in a detached analysis of the uselessness of concepts like “tonal” or “harmonic”. At least two tracks must be highlighted: “Hydrophonie 1″, whose spectral frequencies hide an incredible underworld, and “Studie für glasspiel”, sort of a water glass siren chant unfortunately stopped by an explosion of coughing…As always, there are also three bonus tracks for our collector’s joy; this aside, there is no more excuse to avoid discovering the visionary appeal of one of the most gifted composers of our time.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Seuchengebiete (Die Stadt)
Alternatively hallowed and labelled as a composer of “anti-social” music (the latter opinion reinforced by philosopher E.M.Cioran’s influence on his views), Asmus Tietchens is an admirably coherent man with a well-demonstrated attitude. The roots of his extremely personal methodologies have already been revealed by the first chapters in this great reissue program by Die Stadt; with Seuchengebiete, we enter one of the most innovative periods in the Hamburger’s creative sound research, namely the beginning of his work with water and microphones to record his well-known “Hydrophonies”, first examples of Tietchens’ electroacoustic music based on a single source. As clearly shown by a rough drawing on the CD booklet, two mikes were placed in proximity of dropping water in a basin, with a third contact mike on the drainpipe; after capturing the raw material, Tietchens modified its transparency in pretty radical fashion, filtering and mixing the whole to remodel frequencies, making the water shine with harmonics and flanging waves. This uncomfortable neon light of sharp textural processing alternates with more substantial emissions evoking marine depths but also industrial pneumatic mechanisms – just listen to “Hydrophonie 4″, an essential track originally not on the LP. Fluid rustling and mercurial pollutions surround us throughout this essential album in an ever-growing, anguishing lyricism, just like if we were left watching the inevitable destruction of elemental simplicity in favour of an evolution that will find us psychologically unprepared.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Zeta-Menge (Line)
Due to its inherent (and often only apparent) coldness, Asmus Tietchens’ music has never been analyzed with the due care. That’s an awful shame. There are young “composers” out there that get all the merits for something that – voluntarily or not – they ripped off the German’s sketchbook. Probably not a bit interested in all of the above, Tietchens keeps releasing distillates of electronic sapience that I appreciate more and more as the years go by, and “Z-Menge” is surely one of his best recent works. Four tracks, detached as ever yet so significant in their austerity, show just a tiny quantity of this master’s vision, probably not enough for the mass of pretender-followers to comprehend it in full. On a continuum of ghost noises, sparse discharges sounding like a malfunctioning computer dampened by droplets of poisoned water splash right into an uneasy silence. A muted chorale of underwater lamentations goes on and on for ten minutes while deformed shapes and aborted melodies struggle to gain a tiny place in a malaised light. Tietchens does not betray his philosophy, remaining separated from the rest of the music world through the very core of his creations. Releases like this one are a precise reaction to the uselessness of patterns and decorations, a self-styled reductionism that’s not a fashion but a necessity. Concepts are there to be grasped and if one doesn’t have the inner means required to penetrate a well defined scheme of things, then it’s nobody’s fault. And it looks to me that Asmus Tietchens is progressively getting tired of explaining his insight, if he indeed ever tried to do that. He throws out a few messages, then returns to silence. We should respect that silence, but we never do.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Zwingburgen des Hedonismus / Mysterien des Hafens (Die Stadt)
1987 is when I came in touch with Asmus Tietchens’ music, so these releases – dating from that year and 1988 respectively – have a special taste for this reviewer. “Zwingburgen”, an exercise in chromatic minimalism, may sound absurd to today’s standards with its festival of orchestral samples and fake choirs in martial succession, but after a while its logic gets quite clear, even affirming a degree of power on the brain, which finally becomes used to this oblique aesthetic perceiving it as normal. “Faircomp 1k”, the bonus track, sounds like a variation on the same composition, being structured upon similar sequences of unreal instruments programmed on the Fairlight CMI, a machine that was all the rage then but today is a museum item; yet, the piece is a little less misshapen, thanks to the better quality of the samples. The real treat of this CD is “Mysterien des Hafens”, a gorgeous ceremony that makes good use of incessant rhythmic monotony, comparing it with various species of metallic lamentations and synthesized distortions; it’s a great track, still modern-sounding, showing once more who was the real boss amidst the many intellectual ciphers that had filled the industrial field with no technical expertise and even less compositional acumen. Tietchens ate all of them for lunch, and of course he’s the one who remained.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Notturno (Die Stadt)
To this day, “Notturno” remains one of the overall best albums in Asmus Tietchens’ career, sounding as contemporary and advanced in its conceptions as a release from last year. It’s all the more appropriate that Die Stadt reissues it in the very first form, with the bonus tracks at the end of the original LP’s track succession. In 1986, Tietchens got the chance of freely experimenting – in a technically endowed studio – with a grand piano, from which the essential sounds to work on were retrieved. He was not ashamed of using preparations and “tricks” already explored in the past by certain illustrious composers, but what was achieved in this instance – after his proficient processing operations – is a whole new language, made of virtually inaudible propagations, unpleasant reverberations, phantom chords and skeletally percussive melodic figures where the pianistic timbre is totally vacuum-clean of any humanity. One smells a certain degree of irony when thinking of the album title: if, say, Chopin had imagined something like the Hitchcockian loops heard in “Studies for Henry” or the metallic slashes of “Halbe Tanzmusik” he would have probably retired on the spot. Still, the real splendor of this music comes out in those selections (“Drei Beisetzungen in Wien”, “Zweite Studie für Klavier”, “Ein leben geht zu Ende”) where the coldness of the material gets somehow rounded by a magnificent haze of morphing resonance, glissando and slow oscillation generating an emotional response that’s pretty atypical in the Hamburger’s usually detached sonic expression. Here lies the main reason of this record’s greatness, now as then. If you were distracted – or too young – in 1987, this is the official start of your recovery time.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – ɳ-Menge (Line)
It’s all in the sound placement, with Asmus Tietchens. No, not only that. It’s all in what a sound essentially means, or at least contains. Make no mistake: we won’t be able to really understand, now or in the future, because the essence of the music that this 61-year old introspective skeptic regularly puts out is exactly that: rendering normality virtually unrecognizable. This is demonstrated by the thorough difference between the results obtained according to the settings in which one receives the messages: in a horribly comfortless Easter Eve’s Saturday morning, I’m being surrounded by lethal fumes of incomprehensible, impenetrable frequencies halfway through a muted underwater chorale and the distant rumble of a jet, at times interrupted by more evident “events” that let us think again that someone is at work behind this ghostly representation. Yet, by headphones, what appeared practically impalpable becomes a mass of uncontainable cluttered swells and gurgling deformed utterances, like if we were instantly reduced in size and forced to listen to the outside world from a sinkhole. This is the conclusive statement of the “Menge” series, which stands proud amidst the best Tietchens outings. Just remember not to expect anything else: the pure beauty of non-romanticism. No philosophic interpretation. Only you and these apparently incidental happenings, which – if one realizes about that – often constitute the linking elements of our well-being.
ASMUS TIETCHENS – Aus Freude am Elend (Die Stadt)
Originally issued by Dom America in 1988, “Aus Freude am Elend” is a declaration of war against the ordinary practices of utilization of human voice in a recording. While envisaging these compositions the principal applied a logic of “taping without permission”, focussing his attention upon the most incongruent situations: ritualistic hymns, irate teachers, a popular waltz sung by a solitary man, people having sexual intercourse. To quote Tietchens, during that phase of the 80s “loops and tape voices, monotonous rhythms and lo-fi became obvious means to shape the music”. Add to the formula the customary mastery in the processes of studio treatment – especially with frequency filters and harmonizers – facilitated by the appearance of the first digital machines, and the total is an album that still results tremendously modern, its poetry of deformation often yielding moments of ravishing magnificence. Cases in point, two tracks: the opener “Den Stiftsherren”, in which stirred female voices – singing what sounds like Irish folk tunes or sacred songs – become entangled in marvellously custom-made auras and morphing reverberations, and “Rosenkranz”, which renders chants from some faraway community an unfamiliar ode to the metallic qualities of vocal release. As usual with Die Stadt’s reissues of Tietchens’ work, the record comes with a couple of excellent extra pieces, ten additional minutes of attention-grabbing materials confirming this scientist as one of the real fathers of intrusive sonic breakdown. Trance has never sounded so hallucinating.
ASMUS TIETCHENS / DAVID LEE MYERS – 60:00 (Line)
Don’t say “music”, but “presence”. Think about those feeble tones inside your ear when pressure (or something more vernacularly active) changes all your hearing perspectives for a few seconds; there are several sections in “60:00″ that result in the same loss of aural balance – and that’s not all, of course. Tietchens and Myers stigmatize the fundamental uselessness of most commonly enjoyed kinds of music, forestalling any negative reaction since the very beginning of the record, sampling and accurately filing every microscopic nuance in an algid overview of a desert next to silence. Tietchens’ detached philosophy has brought Myers to follow him along a sonic visual that’s very distant from David Lee’s “Arcane Device” early mask. The icy character of this matter-of-fact experimentation does not weigh at all over the listening pleasure, which is assured for the whole hour; not that I had any doubt – these two know their own alchemy.
ASMUS TIETCHENS & RICHARD CHARTIER – Fabrication + Prefabrication (Die Stadt)
The origin of this collaboration dates back around 2003, when Richard Chartier asked various sound designers to use his “Postfabricated” album as a source for new sonic materials, to be published in the “Repostpostrefabricated” project. Asmus Tietchens – one of the rare human specimens unwilling to sit down and enjoy the glories of first results – didn’t limit his work on that, but kept dissecting and reassembling the original sources, further expanding the chance of a proper teamwork with Chartier. Now, not only we hear the result of that cooperation (“Fabrication”), but the first 500 copies also contain a Tietchens reinterpretation of “Postfabricated”, called “Prefabrication”. Still with me? The two albums are significantly different as far as atmospheres are concerned. The original collaborative CD comprises a scarcely tangible soundscape – more Chartier than Tietchens indeed, yet there’s always something “extraneous” lurking underneath – where transparent clouds of delicate, fragile frequencies hover in the air without imposing their presence, only minor dynamic contrasts rippling the calm waters. Apart from a few gently menacing grey shadows, one has to turn the volume knob clockwise just to realize that the sounds are there; when we do, the alluring grace of these hazy fluxes accompanies a slightly disturbed kind of quietness, working wonders with the faraway sounds coming from the valley: a bell tower, the mooing of cows, the remote groan of motors. The bonus disc is an almost exact opposite: a rather concrete, more radical approach – typical of the Cioran-influenced Professor – that elegantly dissipates any aura of untouchability, reminding to keep feet on the ground before thinking about heavenly prizes. Despite the disaffected attitude, this is music that stimulates the nerves healthily, allowing us to appreciate numerous moments of resonant gratification interspersed with ungovernable intrusions by inauspicious instrumental particles. This, too, has a great effect on the psyche when mixed with the above mentioned external intromissions. Having whispered my preference for the second disc, this is a set that must not be missed by aficionados of both parties.
ASMUS TIETCHENS / JON MUELLER – Acht Stücke (Auf Abwegen)
Second collaboration signed and stamped by the Tietchens & Mueller duo. There are occasions in which one doesn’t need to speak too much to establish a truth, and the truth here lies inside the repeated bends and turns of a gorgeous album, among the best of both artists’ career. The original materials furnished by the Milwaukee percussionist – sounds of Chinese gongs and cymbals – were studio-treated by the German manipulator through his usual masterful methods, this time maintaining the qualities of the harmonic resonance of the metal rather evident amidst the choked gulps, the modified waves and the fractured hiccups that we’re used to receive from the Hamburg-based sonic transformer. There’s this splendid three-way cross between the real essence of Mueller’s stricken parts and swinging gongs, the instant mutated jargon developed by Tietchens over that, the final elemental amalgam bringing the whole to sound like a hidden microcosm where a hypnotically undulating presence is blemished by sparse singular voices of unknown entities. It’s really difficult to describe the overall feel in sheer words, but those who are gifted with the ability of picking disguised frequencies from the core of the more superficial ones are in for several special moments, aware of phenomena that not everybody can actually penetrate. I’m not even sure that “penetrate” is the correct term, as “Acht Stücke” is an inexpugnable fortress of uncertainty. Let me tell you, though, that those doubts morph into revelations at the end.
TOPIAS TIEHÄSALO – Eyes of a dead lamb (Tyyfus)
This “unknown Finnish guitarist” is not really a perfect stranger to this writer, as I had already spotted his name in Ralf Wehowsky’s recent output (as a matter of fact, the German composer reworked some of his improvisations in his track on the Avanto 2006 Festival compilation). Tiheäsalo’s first solo release showcases a good command of the dynamics of acoustic guitar, explored in a combination of sonic entanglement, long moments of quasi-silence and barely audible excursions throughout the body of the instrument, at times played with preparations. Despite the latter, the first name that comes to mind is obviously Derek Bailey – especially as far as picking dissonant harmonics all over the place is concerned – but with a relatively “reductionist” approach that makes the sparse notes and noises interact with a basically tranquil environment in a very effective way, thus giving balance and serious meaning to every affirmation. An alternance of gossamer textures and temporary displacement of commonly defined “lines” and “chords” yields a series of coherent vignettes and abstract aural canvases that never failed to capture my attention and approval during listening. They could even constitute a stimulating background ambience if the place where you live is quiet enough. Tiheäsalo’s playing is intelligent, elastic and sensitive, showing the importance of his classical training despite the evident freedom of his methods. The whole CD sounds consistent and well conceived, without a single weak point. If you’re looking for no-frills, extremely focused guitar improvisations, stop here.
TIGERSMILK – Android love cry (Family Vineyard)
Just when we are secure in our “having found all possible ways to describe the indescribable”, something appears on the desk that peeps at us for weeks, telling “my turn is up”. Deciding that the time has indeed come, we play that thing and instantly have to restart the whole process of churning out new words to write about a musical project. The press release can only help so much. Tigersmilk (Rob Mazurek on cornet, laptop/synth and banjo, Jason Roebke on bass, Dylan van der Schyff on percussion) arrive at the third CD with a background of glittering reviews of their previous releases, “Android love cry” confirming that the trio’s “regulated laissez-faire” kind of improvisation is rather singular. The peculiar mesh of brass tones and electronic treatment through which Mazurek conjures up halogenous essences and nocturnal perspectives might remind, in some instance, of Mark Isham and David Torn’s pairing in the latter’s ever-underrated “Cloud about mercury” (ECM 1987) but we soon realize that the photophobic chemistry of this trio addresses the audience towards a series of sonic black holes where pensive phrasing and massacred rhythm sections fuse into a gradual detachment from the concept of “composition”. Yet, at times these improvisations sound exactly like that, apparently thought out well before committing instruments to tape. Roebke is a master of the minimal grittiness, while van der Schyff would manage to get useful figurations from rolling down a ravine with stones hitting him on the arms. These men are the happy owners of three personalities so distinguishable that one would believe they’re recording different solo albums on separate tracks at the same moment. On the contrary it’s all pretty consistent, many influences patchworked over a style that finds no equals right now. More scaremongers than pranksters, Tigersmilk indicate compelling alternative methods for avoiding stagnation in EAI, enhancing them with large doses of brilliant playing.
JOHN TILBURY / EDDIE PREVOST – Discrete moments (Matchless)
The strong identities of Tilbury and Prevost reach an absolute integration in many of these “discrete” conversations; fascinating caution, gestural de-emphasizing, angular constructions of spontaneous flexibility are the instant guidelines as soon as the music shapes itself from silence. There is a perpetual interchange of invisible energy that can be instinctively perceived during the highly differentiated settings contained here. The remarkable control of attack, sustain and decay of each single acoustic event makes sure every touch, hit or chime represents something nearing a natural (im)perfection, which makes the music sublime for most of the disc. The couple knows the value of non-conformity, displaying once again a grade of concentrated seriousness that elevates their ceremonial act of sipping from a cup of rarefied meditation to an even superior level, where the unadulterated language of improvisational footslogging becomes one with the materialization of an utopia.
TILIA – Vous revez/Vous ne revez pas (Cronica)
While the press release of this gentle piece of work talks about a Steve Reich influence, I listened to the 30 minutes of “Vous revez” without preconceptions, while reading on my couch. More than once the music made me raise my head, due to a simple beauty mostly expressed by repeated/looped piano figures which – if a name must be brought out – reminded me of Gavin Bryars’ “Hommages”. Alexander Peterhaensel (Tilia) conceived this as an electronic multichannel work but its premiere was performed with a dance company in London, in 2003. It’s classy, if not very groundbreaking, modern minimalism; a welcome relief for over-strained ears, executed with attention to the tiniest detail.
TILT – Tilt (L’innomable)
Tao G. Vrhovec Sambolec (live electronics) and Tomaz Grom (double bass) were captured live in two different exhibitions (Alicante and Ljubljana) in 2004. It’s hard to classify what these gentlemen do, as their music runs the whole course linking EAI (with a tad of low-budget attitude) and very lively electronica spiced with an advanced sense of humour that – to quote a recent delusion – was one of the missing ingredients in Adam Linson’s CD on Psi, which more or less features the same instrumentation. Tilt work according to a system of cellular reproduction with spastic expansions and contraptions; they start with a few background noises hinting to potential damage, the creature gaining confidence and strength through well placed thuds, strokes and rasps by Grom’s bass clawed by Sambolec’s whirlwind electronics, mostly based on pitch-shifting and digital-delaying appliances that morph the deep growl of the wooden instrument into deranged chipmunks trying to pickpocket your wallet. The manipulation remains more or less constant, and rarely the sounds are allowed to stabilize a “personality”. We encounter visions made of scattered dynamics and rapidly unfolding complexities that, accepted by the mind, suddenly disappear to leave the scene full of holes and gaps, barely filled by unpromising evaporations and creaking mirages. The record is definitely entertaining, not exceptionally deep but, in its own way, it manages to invade those few pleasure cavities where more “serious” efforts miserably fail.
TIMELESS PULSE – Quintet (Mutable)
Timeless Pulse have been active since 1993, always carrying their “deep listening” flag high and well visible. Consisting of Thomas Buckner, George Marsh, Pauline Oliveros, David Wessel and Jennifer Wilsey, they recorded the five tracks of “Quintet” by assembling an array of instruments that includes accordion, cymbals, drums, gongs, bells, chimes, samples and voice. The musicians’ aim is to “make music together through listening and responding in the moment” (not an obvious statement if you think about certain guitarists playing gazillions of scales learnt at Berklee or GIT without realizing that a rhythm section exists). It’s also nice to find a personal quote by each of the contributors on the cover, trying to give some kind of interpretation to the phenomena that reciprocal respect and perceptiveness engender in performance. This is, purely and simply, sonic invention largely based on a harmonic content; if Buckner’s often theatrical vocalism and Oliveros’ mercurial accordion are the most prominent and recognizable figures, they’d probably weigh a tad less in the music’s economy without the clever percussive work of Marsh and Wilsey, able to generate backgrounds, comments, highlights and deviations with a purpose which is never ego-driven, but completely functional for the pieces to toddle, walk and grow up. A special nod should ideally go to Wessel’s heedful electronics, the key to that state of suspension typical of the best “vintage” improvisation, which collocates every participant in a capsule from where remote no man’s lands can be seen in advance. There are people who would probably try to fit this stuff in the “space music” shelf after a superficial listen, but approaching “Quintet” is much more rewarding, if certainly not easy. Many highs, almost no lows.
STEN OVE TOFT – Lit de parade (Roggbif)
“Lit de parade” is the French expression used when royalty and state leaders are publicly displayed on their deathbed. Norwegian Sten Ove Toft tried to apply the concept of post-mortem decomposition to a music which should symbolize the still present activities that a body presents after passing. Truth be told, this is a great electroacoustic piece, well thought out and even better realized, each element placed exactly where one would like to find it, never lasting more than what’s strictly needed. I’m not precisely aware of what was utilized in the studio, as Toft is credited only with “instrumentation and sounds”. There’s a certain degree of manipulated environmental activity, a bass sample somewhere, a practically invisible contribution by Lasse Marhaug. However, who cares about who or what – it’s the outcome that matters. The alternative presence of static drones, piercing high frequencies and (not too frequent) ear-slaughtering distortion is a point of strength, which suggests that the tension/release ratio has been planned very carefully (in fact the basic recordings were made between 2001 and 2006). A little bit of many things are to be found in there, from Nurse With Wound circa “Soliloquy for Lilith” to Hafler Trio; also, Daniel Menche’s supporters might not experience a disappointment. Nevertheless, this is a deeply personal statement which leads to an underworld of doubts and slightly anxious expectations, an album that looks at death but sounds vivid, pulsating with the scary resonance of a tormented transcendence. I’d almost be willing to say that we’re approaching masterpiece territories, my conviction in that sense growing as the fourth spin begins. Sturdy stuff, highly recommended.
ALAN TOMLINSON / STEVE BERESFORD / ROGER TURNER – Trap street (Emanem)
This is a record you have to catch on at the very beginning – no thinking too much, no analysis or excess of words. Although it’s a perfect team work, it also represents the single musician’s touch very evidently, a demonstration of how to abandon conventions with class. The trombone-propelled creativity of Alan Tomlinson is one of the most engaging and inventive you can get these days, only comparable to the very geniuses (like Paul Hubweber or Paul Rutherford, just to name a couple). His sound is in such a great shape, projected everywhere as it is in the stereo image and saying “go to hell” to any usual method of playing. Steve Beresford’s “electronics and objects” are a constant, intelligent and evocative presence from top to bottom, painting beautiful contrasts and adding more than a stratus of multidimensional ambiences to the set. Roger Turner is a drummer who defies any categorization; his complex artistry could easily rack the brains of the unprepared, but those who know will find his contribute to “Trap street” positively gorgeous.
GIANCARLO TONIUTTI – Ura itam taala’ momojmuj löwajamuj cooconaja (Ferns)
I’ve been reading about Giancarlo Toniutti for more than two decades now but, if memory serves, this 3-inch CD is unbelievably my very first meeting with this soundscaper from Friuli, the North-Eastern region of Italy bordering with Slovenia and Austria, a splendid land of silent places and secretive, introvert people. This brief preamble might help in explaining the basic context of this composition (titled in Hopi language), compared by its creator to a process of “inflow moistening” with good reason. Originally intending to perform a “regular” field recording session at the top of Mt.Cisilin/Špič in the Zuffine mountain chain, GT discovered other elements that came to be a part of the whole, one of them (a bell) becoming the main object of manipulation in the subsequent studio treatment. Mixing various types of resonance of that unexpected acquisition with the omnipresent buzz, hiss and chirping by the on-site animal presences, Toniutti developed an ominous, yet nerve-massaging biotic lament that acts in two different ways, both as a drone piece (we’re constantly engulfed by a less than welcoming half-subsonic murmur slightly deformed by short glissando shifts) and as an acousmatic experiment of the finest order, almost twenty minutes showing utter seriousness in the ability to abandon the original path and find something better, making it work perfectly. “Repeat” mode advisable.
RAFAEL TORAL – Engine 03_04_02 (Touch)
A live recording of an exhibition by Rafael Toral in Paris, “Engine” is like watching a butterfly evolve from a cocoon to all his chromatic splendour. Scored for guitar, bass and a series of devices ranging from feedback circuits to analogue modular systems, this piece shows once and for all that Toral is not just a “guitarist”; even the hypnotic character of his music is constantly developing to leave room to new bursts of sound and intelligent ideas. Putting a pretty complex mechanism into a forward-motion state, Toral lets you think while listening, all the while maintaining that “in-your-face” approach that separates him from the extremely academic (and boring) mass of “six-string intellectuals” we’re so fed up with. And when the butterfly finally starts his long fly, you’re arrived to the last 15 minutes of the piece: droning guitars resplendent in all their beauty, hovering around for our amazement.
RAFEL TORAL – Harmonic series 2 (Headz)
“Harmonic series 2″ follows the “0″ episode – a single-sided LP on Table of The Elements – confirming the new path followed by Toral, who in recent years has been releasing music so beautiful that it defies any explanation. The Portuguese composer applies an ultra-minimal concept to the evolution of computer-generated sinewaves, whose slow oscillations and nerve-caressing timbre are the basis of truly breathtaking infinite horizons; these lucid explorations of our aural perspective are full of overlapping curves, addictive vibrations and sounds coming from unexpected proveniences, but that never manifest their evident power through threatening colours or unsettling imagery. Instead, Toral prefers stretching the listener’s mind with the gentle sapience and the profound experience he gathered throughout all these years, a period in which he graduated from a pretty interesting character to one of the most respected navigators in the sea of new music; this wonderful album is probably the apex of his imaginative world made of sensibility and extraordinarily keen ears.
PAU TORRES – // Hostile (Testing Ground)
There are records that really need no more than being played, without any real necessity of knowing history and circumstances. Not that this album’s digipack is helpful for that matter: besides the titles of the tracks and some grateful nods to a number of helping hands (tiny black lettering on purple, almost unreadable) there’s no mention of anything – instrumentation or else – that was utilized to compose this work, and who says that a reviewer is always willing to engage in web searches? (I did anyway: Barcelona’s Pau Torres is Etude label’s headmaster and also, among other things, the artist behind the Lngtché moniker – check another review right here about that). “// Hostile” is profound and enjoyable, fragmentary and unpredictable yet calm and pensive at the same time. It looks like Torres wanted to present snippets and frames from different existences and happenings in a kind of unusual consecutiveness, and for the large part of the album he succeeded. Improvised sketches, radio segments, backward tapes (or are they?) reflective guitar plucking, detuned strings and strange recurrences (a Davisian trumpet being the most noticeable appearance) affect the listeners just that much required to having them jumping off their train of thought, raising the head and looking outside of the window, silently asking “What now?” A peculiar cross between melancholic indefinition and freewheeling juxtaposition of sources, including environmental sounds and animals, applied in a multitude of contexts that seem to welcome this nicely polyhedric approach, each one with diverse textural and emotional responses. It might sound a little bit introverted at times, but absolutely not paranoid; indeed this is a good conceptual soundscape, especially if we avoid easy associative processes and let ourselves go with the flow of the sonic events, which remain unobtrusively relaxing even in the most detailed instances until the last section, ominous loops throwing us in a state of anaesthetization. Intimately complex, logically lyophilized music, produced by Stephen O’Malley if this can interest a larger chunk of population.
TOTSTELLEN – Tunnel Bruecke (Reduktive Musiken)
The source materials for this CD were recorded “inside the structure of a motorway bridge across the river Elbe in Hamburg” in the occasion of what the composers describe as a “fragmented video performance” for an audio-visual installation. It’s a haunting enough soundscape, halfway through John Hudak (do you remember 1998’s “Brooklyn Bridge”?) and Z’EV, given the extremeness of certain percussive/ringing sounds which, opportunely processed, generate notable echoes that refract all over the listening space. Of course, the “physical” components abound: cars, alarms, someone coughing his lungs off, the faraway reverberations of something hard to define (could it be that the microphones managed to capture the spirit of flying aircrafts?). But, principally in the second section, we also enjoy the presence of what manifests as artificial discharges amidst looped segments – don’t ask me about their derivation, though: they just sound like a dentist’s turbo-drill. German-speaking taped voices appear, out of the blue, to further perplex and bewilder the listener yet it doesn’t last, thuds, rhythmic clangors and the omnipresent thunderous oppression soon taking command again, more or less until the finish. Nothing transcendental indeed, yet aurally agreeable for its large part.
TOY.BIZARRE – kdi dctb 008 / 1996-2000 (Kokeshidisk)
Well, one has to admit when distraction wins. I’ve been reading the name Toy.Bizarre popping out in various occasions for almost half of my life, but never really applied myself to check his music out. It came across my way several times recently, and I’ve started to love it madly. This CD is no exception, gathering several previously unreleased and obscure pieces (some of them issued in scarcely visible compilations) that – even when dating from many years ago – show every nuance of Cedric Peyronnet’s sensitive ear and highly skilled sense of assemblage. He says in fact “…the goal of all my sound compositions is to explore a place: it could be a chain of mountains, a square meter of grass, a beach, a marshalling yard, a hydroelectric powerstation…”. What transpires from Peyronnet’s collages is an acute capability of evocating the most inner feelings that a human being can associate to sheer sound – awareness, remembrance, anxiousness, sorrow – thus allowing the listener to assimilate something that could have not been predictable at first, but that enters our life in the very moment in which that sound is perceived and finds a home in the soul. The messages brought by these anti-schematic tracks are often communications of deep consciousness and, dare I say, tenderness, even in their harshest components. Toy.Bizarre manages to elicit distant memories of phenomena that we may or may not be willing to go through but have a deep impact on the psyche, which remains permanently engraved by a therapeutic circuit of recollections.
TOY.BIZARRE – kdi dctb 039 (Ferns)
The more I listen to Toy.Bizarre’s soundscapes, the better I appreciate them, even when they last no longer than 20 minutes, like in the case of this magnificent 3-inch which was made with field recordings that Cedric Peyronnet gathered in “various places visited from 1994 to 2007”. I’m sure that, besides being a frequent traveler, Peyronnet is a man gifted with the proverbial “open ears”. He always manages to catch the essential meaning of each sound, including the apparently less exciting ones, and his ability of generating accomplished compositions from these sources is something that strikes me deeply. One hardly realizes if we’re hearing presences from a country area – a concrete hypothesis, given that Toy.Bizarre has often made good use of that kind of ambience – or memories from depressing urban landscapes. The succession is perfect: “that” aircraft’s fabulous distant moan (I want the copyright for having named it “the airplane of consciousness” first), steps on a crumbling ground, reverberations that could have captured in a well or some other kind of hole, jangling metals in faraway quarters, virtual crossroads between reality and suspension of the bodily functions that become all the more welcomed in those moments where pondering about what we’ve been doing until now becomes as heavy as a huge stone that needs to be removed from our path. Different levels of sensibility will contribute to enhance the sense of belonging (to what, it remains to be seen) that these sounds can instigate. Brilliant stuff, a lesson for the wannabes who believe that sticking out a microphone is the only necessary act to start calling themselves “environmental artists” and, on that basis, releasing the customary bunch of useless discs.
TOY.BIZARRE / DALE LLOYD – Toy.Bizarre / Dale Lloyd (Bremsstrahlung)
There are undersung albums that just need to be hyped around, and rightly so. This is one of them: two splendid compositions, masterfully assembled by a pair of lead players in the game of electronically treated field recordings, demonstrate how an evolved sound artist can transform simple sources into mayflowers and nightglows. Toy.Bizarre’s “Well, wind, wood, night, plane” has a self-explanatory title and, according to its inventor, should be enjoyed only on headphones. Being this reviewer a little disobedient, I tried both settings and actually preferred the speakers, even if the suggested method is more useful for revealing the undercurrent activities characterizing the piece. Everything you hear was recorded in Pommier, France and is told to be highly evocative for the composer; indeed, the particular resonance of the well redeems “normal” sounds, modifying their essence until everything spirals into constant implausibility, eliciting aural shades of the finest blend. Metallic gurgles, disguised birds and a fabulous aeroplane are meshed in an undescribable memento of something that we have surely experienced but can’t recollect in any way. One feels trapped in a giant drainpipe but at the same time perfectly willing to remain there and accept any consequence. Dale Lloyd’s “From dayspring to eventide: within the green half-light” is a finely delicate mixture of environmental sounds and electronics, whose efficiency and exquisite coherence is typical of this composer. Contrarily to Toy.Bizarre’s track, we’re in presence of something that affects our momentary existence more subliminally, tiny harmonics, insects and gradual crepuscular views inching forward to find the right framework in our mind to be fixed in and remain as a permanent, indelible memory, even if those circumstances will never be replicated. A silent intensity unfolds slowly, then disappears only to be replaced by murmuring waters and a general sense of rarefaction. Both sides of this precious coin shine of their respective radiance, and expressing a preference would be foolishly useless. An absolute must.
STAN TRACEY / EVAN PARKER – Suspensions and anticipations (Psi)
Some of the many records I get to review have the word “masterpiece” carved all over them, sometimes even before being played. In this particular case I had a pretty safe bet, as I knew that two sensible playmates like Stan and Evan couldn’t play an out-of-context note if paid. Apart from two extremely concentrated solo pieces, all the tracks are high-caliber duets; Tracey’s phrasing is extremely well balanced, his improvisational skill growing in time like an artisan’s master craft. Even during the quickest runs, notes remain completely intelligible and with a strong, positive logic – a character separating the best from the crowds of wannabes. Parker articulates his strong thoughts with a little bit more of a restraint than usual; to a major extent he’s like the explanatory code for fascinating messages, his task putting good doses of fluid in the complex mechanism of his comrade’s artistic concept. They smile to each other, then lower their heads and start putting sequences out like if baking loaves: what comes at the end is that well known urge to say “I’ll listen to it again”.
STAN TRACEY / EVAN PARKER – Crevulations (Psi)
Fluctuating between sad reflections and intense invocations of multi-faceted spirits, Tracey and Parker (the latter on tenor sax only) extract delicious essences of supreme interplay in an exhibition recorded during the 2004 edition of the Appleby jazz festival, a seriously charged conversation – both emotionally and in the “active thinking” department – lasting for the whole four tracks. Avoiding any kind of grumpiness the musicians maintain an undisturbed concentration, allowing the music to come out and reforest the surrounding silence; Stan’s fanciful imagery is splashed around through drastic changes and pensive meaningfulness, underlining Evan’s numberless scintillating estrangements from the rules of “jazz”, a constitution where many leading powers are too often defined “improvisers” without knowing what this term really means. This duo’s approach to new batches of instantly conceived materials is probably beyond paragon, their reciprocal feedback a driving force throughout a classic dialogue.
TRANSVALUE BOOK III – The ’58 retractable hardtop (Thankyou)
Transvalue are an amalgamation of talking turmoil and spectacular arrangements, existing since 1980. Its core members are trombonist and composer Michael Vlatkovich, spoken word artist Chuck Britt and percussionist David Crigger; the circle of aides for this CD encompasses a lot of terrific musicians, Vinny Golia being a name that was immediately recognized here. The record is quite long at over 76 minutes, and listening to a somewhat belligerent voice speaking for long stretches may be demanding sometimes – especially for the non-well versed in the English idiom – but boy, can these guys play. There’s not a note out of position, and after a while one even manages to become au fait with Britt’s not-instantly-gratifying rasping tone, which is more or less ever present (although not at all times in a nonstop manner: there are also duets – and lots of beautiful ensemble singing, too). The orchestrations called to memory several beloved entities of mine: Zappa (circa “Greggery Peccary” and “The Grand Wazoo”) on top of everything, The Tubes, British jazz (a number of sections reminded me, in short tracts, of Kenny Wheeler), the whole typified both by drama and thrilled outbursts – exactly as in an archetypal musical. The technical altitude remains persistently remarkable, the eminence of the instrumentalists triumphing upon any potential defect (and I didn’t find so many indeed). My foot was often caught tapping when listening to this. Give these chaps an opportunity: although not really devising anything new, they just sound gorgeous.
TRAW & RHODRI DAVIES – Cwymp y Dwr ar Ganol Dydd (Confront Collectors Series)
The Welsh title translates as “The water falls at morning’s end”; from the same geographic area come the makers of this splendid record, which confirms – among other things – the extreme flexibility of Rhodri Davies, who moves from solo harp improvisation to complex electronic soundscaping without a problem. Traw (another Welsh word meaning “pitch” or “wholeness”) work with real-time sampling and processing through their laptops; the members are Richard Llewellyn, Owen Martell and Simon Proffitt. The titles of the six tracks refer to waterfalls or rivers in the South Wales; given the obscure, at times menacing sound of the whole CD, one could be justified if thinking instead of industrial pollution. “Sychryd” throws us in the arms of textural suspension, looped waves and feedback surges lulling our brain into accepting the uselessness of definition; minor scrapes and groans underline the final part of the piece, which – in a word – is gorgeous. “Sgwd Yr Eira” is a carefully detailed, drifting exploration of the wrinkles of drone, its fragmented substrata sounding like a canned cross of Thomas Köner and Biosphere glancing apprehensively at a battery of broken clocks that should have tolled the exact time to grieve for the death of harmony but failed, thus allowing these damp gaseous masses to sound like a subdued ceremony instead. A piercing high frequency introduces “Einion Gam”, whose deep dark resonance and faraway percussive clangour seem to represent the frontispiece of a parapsychologic structure, our awareness repeatedly tested by surprising appearances and sounds that border on the imaginary yet are really present, if a little disguised in the mix. “Mellte” is almost paralyzing in its greyish charm, spectral incoherence and cybernetic-like coldness tuning our system to a station that transmits only the noise of contaminated hail falling on the roof of insensibility. “Y Pannwr” sets the vibrational rate at its maximum while reminding of the fallibility of human behaviour, symbolized by growing nervousness and barely repressed violence which the acrid distortion of the piece can only sketch. The final minutes confirm the regression to a cocoon of deluded expectation, confirmed by the austere deployment of low frequencies characterizing the conclusive “Llia”, an uneasy moment that once and for all seals the pact between stasis and movement in a perfect soundtrack to an ill-planned hermitage. A great record from every point of view; the use of speakers is highly recommended to let these malign resonances transform a sugary mental numbness into a healthily bitter refusal of the obvious.
MARK TRAYLE – Goldstripe (Creative Sources)
“Goldstripe” was made with data taken from the magnetic stripes of credit and cash cards, converted into sonic structures by a computer. Simple as that, and indeed not the first time that someone links economy to sound “research” (Tom Hamilton did something similar through the association of indexes of the gold market to his own system in “London Fix”, and in recent times Mathieu Saladin’s “Stock Exchange Pieces” dealt with this kind of experimentation, too). Well, let’s be frank: the resulting music is not that interesting. As one would expect, this is more or less a festival of unequal, yet somehow predictable electronic noises dynamically imbalanced, of course rather volatile but definitely not making us exclaim “eureka”. I always find a use to these kinds of records, though: put it in your headphone at not excessive volume while you read, or even in front of a silent TV set (this is one of my favorite methods of listening to bizarre stuff); what is not found in terms of aesthetic acceptability will result practical as a brain stimulator. All those buzzes, bleeps and tweets excite the nerves, and this commuting writer also decreed that they work great as bullshit-canceling aural protection during daily travels by train. Call me superficial, but I think that this is the best way to appreciate an otherwise not very momentous release.
PIERRE ALEXANDRE TREMBLAY – Alter ego (Empreintes DIGITALes)
The psychological field investigated by Tremblay is often perturbed by offhand extensions of the usual meanings of acoustic events. The tracks of “Alter ego” present several variables and a few guidelines in which more or less “familiar” sounds, such as Formula One roaring engines or a rapper’s performance, are exploited to their full extent but, at the same time, completely modified in their essence. Those sounds, thanks to Tremblay’s studio treatment, behave like small parts of a giant mechanism, yet there is no shortage of emotions in this excellent work; the most involving segments include several tension/release artifices that colour the music with exciting textures and unpredictable relationships. Except for a couple of instances in which vocal utterances determine dramatic – make that “traumatic” – insurgences of nervousness, the large part of this full hour of ultra-variable structures is quite suggestive and it will probably resound sympathetically with the average cognitive predisposition of most listeners, possibly including the less used to this kind of experimentation. As a sort of conclusive signature, the final track (“La cloche felée”) features fabulously reworked/expanded bell shades which eschew the traps of acousmatic commonplace, evoking the “spirit of the metal” as a substantial, engrossing aura that lingers on even after the record is over.
TREUHEIT / IRMER / WISSEL – Katachi (KTMP)
Three different stories, one common intention, the consequence an outstanding record of borderless playing in which the musicians are not feeling guilty to let everybody know that they can really handle their instruments. Klaus Treuheit (cembalo, prepared piano) is the sort of voyager that will probably never bow to the rules of ignobility, his manoeuvring of the inside rough stuff equalling the involvement of the spirit in the embracing sections of the record. Violinist Christoph Irmer, an associate of the London Improvisers Orchestra among the many activities, is a designer of timbral ridges, conceived through the most sophisticated relationship with wood and strings, the anatomy of the violin hiding no secrets for him. Georg Wissel (alto and tenor sax, obone) is specialized in insufflating vibrancy in “sculptures of compressed air”, as he defines his style, manifesting revulsion against whatever resembles a regular combination of successive notes. This music pricks, squeaks, pretends and reveals; its rubbery flexibility is perfect for a mudslinging of improvisation’s humdrum muffins that we’re often forced to gulp down while smiling wryly, thinking that there is a way out after all. Interruptions and suspensions in the canons of ordinary modishness that end up sounding like a new kind of bona fide class, splendidly unpolluted in an impulsive singleness.
VALERIO TRICOLI – Metaprogramming from within the eye of the storm (Bowindo)
A frequent collaborator of John Duncan, Valerio Tricoli has been active for several years now in the field of psychologically-related sonic assemblage, although this CD marks my first contact with his recorded output. Short and effectively concise at less than 35 minutes, this is a captivating gallery of snapshots taken – to quote the liners – “where ears persist to listen to what was never about to start”. Indeed, nothing is so mysterious: Tricoli makes good use of sudden dynamic changes, concrete sounds and impressive subsonic radiations to build a chain of anxious expectations fulfilled with responses that not always correspond to what the subconsciousness would anticipate. He alternates violent outbursts of distortion with territorial recordings placed so far away in the mix that they sound more like a reminiscence than an actual event, all the while underlining the most dramatic pictures with human whispers and processed formants. Yet the best moments are those in which the throbbing force of the adjacent low frequencies manifests itself, forcing us to reassess our judgement of what we really needed when we were still a foetus. While this music moves along well-trodden paths, it is also finely conceived and prepared, apparently renouncing to that decorative pretentiousness – both musical and verbal – found in many other Italian “artists” belonging to this circle.
TRI CORNERED TENT SHOW – The foolkiller (Edgetone)
One thing is demonstrating against obtuse foreign policy by gathering in the streets and ranting hollow slogans; much better is moving the blade of repressed rage into the already painful wound of indifference via unconventional means. “The foolkiller” is an effort by a 14-piece group of major improvisers from the San Francisco Bay Area, who all deserve to be mentioned here: Andre Custodio, Philip Everett, Ray Schaeffer, C.J. Reaven Borosque, Matt Davignon, Dina Emerson, Sandor Finta, Lance Grabmiller, Ernesto Diaz-Infante, Marina Lazzara, Bob Marsh, Jessie Quattro, Alwyn Quebido, Rent Romus. If you’re looking for some kind of “style” – wrong way. The ear-shocking abstractions of this multi-talented horde of pretty nervous, commonplace-attacking outsiders will have you sitting quite uncomfortably on the burning coil of hallucinated “poems” where the vocalists deliver serious punches to the stomach pit, sounding politely desperate and dramatically ironic during their elegant nightmares drenched in metaphysical instrumental hopelessness. One can clearly feel the strong connection among the artists in this assortment of unfamiliar imaginations; this is the very force of this difficult album, which certainly won’t reward those approaching it with superficial attitude and – of course – contrary socio-political opinions.
TRIO FO – Breaking silence (Loose Torque)
Improvisation can be an adequate vehicle of ear pleasure more often than the average listener might think. Neil Metcalfe (flute), Nick Stephens (double bass) and Tony Marsh (drums) fully demonstrate this axiom in the six movements of “Breaking silence”, a full hour of virtuosity that dispenses with glossy uselessness, void academic gestures and the snotty nose typical of the depositaries of truth. Metcalfe’s body of sound is extraordinary in its well-rounded freedom of choice, notes and breath fusing in a seemingly genetical correspondence; the response generated by the relationship between ear, brain and the vibration of the particles elicited by his flute is frankly astounding. Stephens works as a well-mannered leader of sorts, a democratic north star bringing the music to self-determine the correct circumstances needed to better express its enormous potential (not to mention his fabulous tone, growling and concrete but absolutely lyrical in its essence). Marsh is a phenomenon of restraint for the large part of the album, working with brushes to create an aura of conscious inertia which he then interrupts with rapid fusillades and ever-understated genial touches and clean figurations. This excellent music reinforces these artists’ well deserved reputation as big names in the area of English free improvisation while establishing an aggregation process that attracts the listeners to its barycentre, no excess of concentration required. Great stuff in any sense.
TRIO OF UNCERTAINTY – Unlocked (Emanem)
Veryan Weston is undoubtedly among the most talented pianists around, two of his previous Emanem releases – “Tessellations” and “Temperament”, the latter with Jon Rose – belonging in the all-time favourites of my mind’s collection, not to mention the memorable duets with Phil Minton. Both cellist Hannah Marshall and violinist Satoko Fukuda were instead new names for yours truly, and the pleasure deriving from this first meeting is tangible after having listened to “Unlocked” with the necessary attention. As Richard Barrett correctly points out introducing the album, one has a sense of “three minds working in the moment”, the tidy showcase of well-trained musicianship shown by the players throughout the ten tracks notwithstanding. There’s a feeling of “academic indiscipline” that attributes a radically independent personality to the music, despite many sections sounding like (quite atypical) modern chamber scores. The clash of Marshall and Fukuda’s unyoked fantasies produces astonishing results without a trace of sensationalism in sight, the exploration of the less practiced areas of their instruments led with surefooted independence, but also with the aerials raised in search of an intuitive homage to the spirit that will conduct these exchanges to be part of a fully developed collective expressiveness. Speaking of which, Weston counterbalances the younger companions with his customary shimmering dexterity, droplets of digital forwardness and splintered melancholic reminiscences the glue of an ever-present reciprocal artistic partisanship. Thus, the violin/cello/piano formula becomes a winner, ideally fusing distant worlds into a single microcosm – lasting about one hour – whose pulsating energy and flexible aesthetic are enough to justify enthusiastic reactions.
TRIO SOWARI – Three dances (Potlatch)
Trio Sowari are Phil Durrant (software sampler, synth, treatments) Bertrand Denzler (tenor sax) and Burkhard Beins (percussion, objects). Minute unemotional impatience and saucy irony form a forestry of small-sound slipstreams where domesticity can suddenly become a monstrous notepad of thwart perspectives. Deep hums, stumped carillons and strange waves mix with crunching ultrasonic activity in an unauthorized industrialization of little sonic secrets becoming more and more seductive in their reclusive dimension; the perfect proportionality of the overall spectrum does the rest, while one struggles to divide the hissing and the clucking in the saxophone conduits from the uncomfortable emissions splashing out of computers and percussion. A high-level conversation among three fine improvising oracles who modify their self-absorbed thoughts, drawing magnificent irregular geometries with them.
TRIO VIRIDITAS – WaxWebWind@eBroadway (Clean Feed)
The most energetic side of Alfred Harth’s creativity, the one which fathers his incredibly inventive solo efforts, should never let us forget that the man was grown and trained, first and foremost, as a jazz player. An album like this is here to remind us, and it’s just unfortunate that this trio does not exist anymore as, sadly, bassist Wilber Morris (brother of composer Lawrence “Butch” Morris”) left us in 2002, the same year in which the record was released. Additional material by these gentlemen will see the light in 2008, though – on this very same label. Harth maintains that Trio Viriditas would have had a great future, because the special chemistry between him, Morris and percussionist Kevin Norton was felt as something truly special. In the latter’s words, “…each concert was a revelation of sonic, formal and even inter-personal possibilities”, the music indeed possessing a kind of “warm” vibe that’s rarely heard in contemporary jazz and remains evident also during apparently hostile fragment: check “Braggadocio”, with its convulsive intersections between Norton’s mallets and Harth’s piquant phrases, Morris calmly swinging a steady pulse in the background. The bassist defined this group as a “democratic working unit”, and indeed there is no doubt about the perfect equilibrium characterizing the material, which to these ears stands out as a well-tempered mixture of reciprocal understanding, immediate intuition and refined technique. “Auda-city”, for example, begins with a sparse dialogue between Morris and Norton, in which Harth enters almost without being noticed, his sax a gentle breeze of longitudinal savoir-faire that furnishes the music with a touch of alternative elegance. “Starbucks” and “Starbucks Variation” would have made Eric Dolphy quite envious; both were penned by AH, who at that time lived in New York’s Lower East Side and wrote the first compositions for the trio in the local restaurants. The only track signed by Morris is the quasi-ritualistic “Interstice”, where the bassist accompanies with his voice a dissonant invocation underlined by Norton’s elastic articulations, while Harth keeps one foot in the tradition and the other in a “no tomorrow” consciousness, his tenor calling out souls from graveyards in an energizing crescendo. The chamber-tinged “Fuer die Katz’s Deli(ght)” is another example of Mr.23′s versatility (by the way, the album title refers to the internet of course, and “www” is thrice the 23rd letter in the alphabet…), a filamentous liaison that ends rather abruptly after making us salivate in expectancy, while “Cue(ball) #1″ is the only track credited to Kevin Norton, six minutes of ample intervals and “withdrawn extroversion”, all players very concentrated throughout. “Major Airports” meshes the musicians’ voices in a final jam where Morris and Harth wave to each other while directed to different circuits that, inexplicably, lead them to the same destination, with Norton using all his palette’s colours to depict the unstable passing of a by now in(di)visible time. The appropriate seal on a noble release.
TRIO VIRIDITAS – Live at Vision Festival VI (Clean Feed)
Recorded on June 2, 2001 (a couple of months before Alfred Harth’s departure to the Korean shores, which prevented him to be a New York resident exactly from the most disastrous month of man’s history) this superb concert gives an idea of the potential – sadly unfulfilled due to bassist Wilber Morris’ death in 2002 – of Trio Viriditas, the third member as always the tremendously articulate, ever imaginative Kevin Norton on drums and vibes. In this particular occasion, the music generated by these artists suggests a veritable inviolability, three distinctive personalities – each endowed with inimitable qualities – delivering themselves from any hypothetic artistic puffiness in order to disclose to the lucky spectators both their barest soul and a strong purpose to accomplish the mission through deep, intense paths of conscious agony and just a pinch of fun. Let’s also make perfectly clear that this is a hell of a “must” if one isn’t acquainted with Harth’s reed omniscience and would love to figure out at least a smidgen of what the man is capable of doing (on pocket trumpet too, if saxes and bass clarinet weren’t enough). In a track like “Melancholy”, A23H evidently illustrates why he should be ranked as the ultimate poignant soloist, the phrasing starting with the predisposition to a soft kind of ballad (with hints of melody that even quote – involuntarily? – the “all my troubles seemed so far away” segment of Paul McCartney’s “Yesterday”!) then, out of the blue, exploding in vicious yelps, the upper partials splitting in a thousand fragments, the whole underlined by vocal growling ’n’ shouting, old bluesman-style. Then again, dissonant popping corks and splintered lines materialize, only to reformat into unrepeatable splendour. Ah, the frustration of not being able to convey the words for those incomparable, literally huge solos. And what a gas, listening to Harth cackle via clarinet in certain sections, or blowing the empire away with well-informed usage of space and time during short yet effective trumpet-based interventions. And the solo in “Viriditas Waltz”, shall we talk about that, too? Stuff that – no kidding here, folks – might elicit the urge of hiding the instruments in the cases and go to sleep for many pretenders, unless they’re open to listening and learning something for once in a lifetime. You should also hear what Norton does, as it’s all substance. The remarkable contrapuntal skill in “Braggadocio” is a noticeable evidence of how talented this percussionist is, a man too humble to be seriously renowned. Not a problem for the cognoscenti, who will instantly identify his “guerrilla smartness”: finesse and concentration amalgamated by one of the brightest architectural minds around. Anthony Braxton, Fred Frith and Joëlle Léandre must have good reasons for having been willing to exchange ideas with this grown-up kid. Knowing that Wilber Morris is not among us anymore is, somehow, akin to urging ourselves to welcome first-rate human beings and outstanding musicians earlier than fate, which comes and modifies what’s erroneously meant as certitude. This man’s bass recalls integralist jazz and chamber music at one and the same time, an emblem in that sense a medley of “Fuer die Katz’s deli(ght)” and “Starbucks”, Morris reciting his intentional extraneousness from any plausible pattern or lick to concentrate on a warm tone, attributing muscle to particularly spacious designs where Norton and Harth seem to come in with utmost ease, sounding as ghosts skating on ice. A bad loss for the world of improvisation, and this CD is just perfect for ringing a bell of memory. There goes the wish of hearing more of this special trio, possibly from Mr.23’s archives: another studio recording, realized in the same period to support tours that – alas – never occurred, definitely exists. If that’s half as powerful as the moving force of this live set, we’re riding high already. Play “Peace”, last selection of the album, louder and louder; open your windows and let everybody rejoice, for this a new jazz masterpiece – no ifs and buts.
TRIO VOPA’ – Fauxpas (Schraum)
Debut album by the trinity of Roland Spieth (trumpet), Cornelius Veit (electric guitar, effects) and Axel Haller (electric bass, paper, walkman). “Fauxpas” – which, let me be anal retentive here, is pronounced “Vopà” and viceversa – consists of fourteen short tracks plus a long, obscurely entrancing loop-based soundscape that closes the CD. The musicians alternate trio, duo and solo settings, basically moving around the coordinates of dirty electric structures (guitar and bass are predominantly played through various types of extended techniques) over which Spieth’s trumpet spreads its multiform timbre with large doses of mystery and ironic twists: the final track sees him nodding in a silent way (pun intended) to the man with the horn’s muted lyricism amidst a massive hypnosis generated by the infinite repeat devices of Veit and Haller. There are a lot of things to be appreciated here, but the most important is the coherence of the whole which allows the listener to get a picture of the course of action without the musicians’ need of sacrificing the concentrated research carried on for the almost 50 minutes of the disc. All in all, a honest effort containing a bag of nice sounds assembled with skill and taste; the limits of the “overly difficult to digest” are never trespassed.
TRIPLEPLAY – Gambit (Clean Feed)
I listened to this CD early in the morning and it gave me a beautiful rush of positive vibes for the rest of the day. This music is direct, accessible, sun-shining and acute even in its dissonant segments or during the blowouts; the composition skill is extremely high. Ken Vandermark’s brilliance is perfectly exposed in a series of mobile guidelines posing an identical number of questions and relative answers, played with surgical attention but with a heart that’s full of love. Nate McBride is a great bassist and it’s maybe surprising that I found myself listening to him with deeper attention, completely wrapped by the warmth and thickness of his sound. Curt Newton adds an energetic surplus, drumming off his right mind, always finding the right colour and deviating from “that pattern” when it’s due. And when the going gets tough, Tripleplay get going.
TRIPWIRE – Looking in my ear (Creative Sources)
Recording imperturbable instrumental manifestations in a church – in this case, Hamburg’s Christianskirche – has lately become a pretty common habit in the improvised music collectivity. “Looking in my ear” is a fine example of sensitive exploration of silence by three respectful players. Lars Scherzberg’s sax rides waves of disguised significance by demolishing pre-conceived structures, extrapolating twists and turns from the straight lines of thoughtlessness. John Hughes, on bass, is capable of titillating every spot of his instrument to form logical constructions with clattering apprehensiveness and breathtaking emotion – check his splendid plangent glissandos on the magical “Irradiate”, my favourite track of the album. Jeff Arnal is a sweet-talking, attentively listening man on a percussion set which is transformed in a polychromatic palette where the terms of the conversation change a little bit, getting that necessary spark of contradiction able to transform sonic byproducts into lenitive massages for an ever-too-distrustful nervous system.
TROUM – AIWS (Transgredient)
The pieces comprised by “AIWS” – which means “eternity” in Gothic, but could also be the short for “Alice In Wonderland Syndrome” – were taped between 2002 and 2005 following the usual Troum directives: avoiding digital manipulation, computers and sampling, instead privileging real instruments such as guitars, bass, vinyl records and voices. The duo is not fond of hi-fi, having recorded these pieces in the analog medium on 4 and 8 tracks. In general, we find the customary highs and lows characterizing this type of production: while certain loops and sequences are appealing enough, building a whole piece upon the invariable repetition of a basic idea sometimes doesn’t work, and one uselessly waits for things to change. This kind of “transcendence”, it should be clearly told once and for all, at times sounds rather outdated. There are brilliant highlights of course (“Penthos” I did appreciate a lot, and the very Basinskian “Peletä” is almost heartbreaking), living together with several undeveloped sketches presented as if they were completed concepts. Which they’re not. For fans only.
TRUE COLOUR OF BLOOD – All of the true things I’m about to tell you are lies (Gears Of Sand)
Meet guitarist Eric Kesner, owner of a studio named “Hypno-Monotony” (first clue). Go back with the memory – especially the ones who are approaching or have surpassed the age of 40 – to records like “Hypnotics” by Suso Saiz and, in more recent times, a great part of Douglas Ferguson’s work. Let’s throw in a third name, just to completely delineate what we’re dealing with here: Paul Bradley, whose enthralling music I’d believed for years to be generated from keyboards, only to be gobsmacked at discovering that his main instruments are indeed guitars. You guessed right: Mr. Kesner, too, is a soundscaper operating via stratified cumuli of axes: mainly inaudible note attack, virtually infinite decay, nearly impalpable harmonic substance – at least if we don’t consider the curve balls thrown in the second track, full of glitches and including several discharges of white noise (I had thought about a defect but was reassured that it isn’t…). Guessing that the cathedrals of resonance heard in this disc were built through stringed machines wouldn’t be simple without reading the sleeve notes, this being in fact what distinguishes Kesner and few others from the thousands of plastic bags in a green meadow of today’s “dronambient”. Most of all, the essential glory of True Colour Of Blood’s daunting resonances resides in its wintry immobility: everything appears as frozen in a transparent coating of unhappiness, the rare changes of scenarios occurring via gradual fade ins/outs and slow movements, the listener almost unaware of the inert waves directing their energy towards another remote, equally inscrutable site amidst obfuscated radiance. The record, which nearly lasts 80 minutes but sustained my interest throughout reiterated sessions, was “designed for low-level listening”, working fine even a little louder nevertheless. In any case it’s outstanding, definitely indispensable for the legitimate connoisseurs of the genre.
TOSHIYA TSUNODA – Scenery of decalcomania (Naturestrip)
Tsunoda is that kind of sound artist able to discover lyricism in inanimate materials; this album contains seven recordings made at different times and places, where microphone positioning and vibration (natural or induced) are the basis for peculiar aural phenomena. While the wind through a tube or a gas cylinder at work create ever changing spurious frequencies behaving like out-of-focus environmental snapshots around the listener, an oscillator moving copper foils translates into penetrating refractions of metallic light going from a room corner to another, also depending on head movement. The most fascinating piece is “Ferry passing”: an illustration of a bay from a bridge where the totality of sound sources is bathed in natural reverberation to form a separate world where objects and souls reach an unembodied fusion, existing on their own and as an organic whole at the same time.
TOSHIYA TSUNODA / CIVYIU KKLIU – Toshiya Tsunoda / Civyiu Kkliu (Bremsstrahlung)
Two composers on two different CD EPs, a general sense of accomplishment informing this chapter of experimental ultraminimalism. Let’s start with Kkliu, whose music was totally extraneous to this writer before receiving this release. His “1111111″ is a single 20-minute drone centred around an uncertain “B” note, slightly disturbed by some kind of subsonic whoosh that had me thinking of Christof Kurzmann’s “The air between”. The music is totally hypnotic, almost weakening, oppressive in a way; it goes down as excellent in my book. Tsunoda presents three segments that cover the whole area of less-than-easy-and-necessarily-attentive listening: extreme high frequencies become crunchy sounds akin to pulped paper, a thunderous sub bass pulse has my woofer quivering, a harsh eruption of distorted emissions won’t help a iota if you suffer from headaches. Great stuff – especially the Kkliu piece and Tsunoda’s second track – useful to test your friends’ loyalty, should you decide to force them to listen to this kind of molecular alteration. Like that famous quote about Frank Zappa’s Mothers of Invention, “no commercial potential”.
DAVE TUCKER WEST COAST PROJECT – Tenderloin (Pax Recordings)
Totally scheme-free, delivering strange unassuming aural excursions, here comes the West Coast Project: a non-idiomatic, erudite sextet led by guitarist Dave Tucker, also including Ernesto Diaz-Infante, Danielle DeGruttola, Damon Smith, Scott R.Looney and Garth Powell. While mostly revolving around strings and electronics, with guitars galore in full “no-style” steamrolling, the group weaves through a complex wallpaper of textural noise that’s virtually impossible to catch, much less keep in mind. The musicians never look for a settlement, rather tending to show their vision one another in parallel motion, making for contrasting impressions and piping hot mucosities. This kind of sour troubleshooting is also the most interesting colour of the CD. Six artists unwilling to compromise, serious improvisers to the very bone.
TUPOLEV – Memories of Björn Bolssen (Valeot)
A sleeper by an Austrian quartet formed by Peter Holy (piano), Alexandr Vatagin (bass, cello), Lukas Scholler (electronics) and David Schweighart (drums). Instrumental incidents – except for a short vocal intermission in “Nothing’s gonna happen” – whose essential disposition circles around the uncharacteristic tone of Holy’s piano, something that’s better discernible by listening without the aid of a headset. Freely spreading in your space, the group’s atypical progressions (which sound half improvised, if you ask me) give an idea of weird colours, resonances that seem to originate from a peculiarly tuned instrument. Taken as a whole the feel is one of mild glumness, although foreseeing where these guys want to go doesn’t come without complications, especially in view of recurrent background electronic digressions yielding supplementary modifications to the tunes. At times, a cello line emphasizes moments of post-pastoral rarefaction, still insufficient to distance the music from its fusion of vague impassiveness and downhearted calmness. On a first listen I remained relatively unconcerned, yet by giving the CD additional spins one discovers a number of charming layers of meaning. Not weighty to the extreme, still interesting.
“BLUE” GENE TYRANNY – Out of the Blue (Unseen Worlds)
As strangely fascinating as it is, “Out of the Blue” could never be released today. It’s indeed that kind of work that can signify at least three elements: 1) The unparalleled creative force of the 70s, the only period in which technical expertise and ingenuousness were working together full steam; 2) The protagonist’s idiosyncratic approach to composition 3) Unseen Worlds’ effort to preserve memories that constitute special treasures for people over 40 years of age, while also bringing to light unknown masterpieces (such as Lubomyr Melnyk’s recordings – did you get your copy of “KMH” already?). The material comprised here, admittedly unattended for over a decade now by this owner of the original vinyl version, features four little jewels camouflaged among rudiments of pop, minimalism, spoken word à la Robert Ashley (of which, unsurprisingly, Tyranny is a long-time collaborator) and something that sounds like a mix of amorphous electronica and Canterbury aromas; somehow, Lynne Morrow and Jane Sharp’s vocals in “A letter from home”, the 25-minute piece which tops the record in terms of compositional interest and authentic beauty, recall the parts sung by the Northettes (Amanda Parsons, Barbara Gaskin and Ann Rosenthal) with National Health or Hatfield and The North, the whole surrounded by a cross-pollination of quasi-Glassian phrases, acoustic guitars and fairy tale soundtrack spiced by environmental sounds (that train is just heartbreaking). Even the apparently easier tracks, such as “Next time might your time” and “For David K”, feature quizzical twists and turns that sound pretty uncommon nowadays, so what does it say about their public receipt three decades ago? “Leading a double life”, which used to close side one, is the obvious bridge between Tyranny’s galaxies: only keyboards and female voices are more than enough to depict the particular, if ever coherent vision characterizing this man’s music to date. Add names like Peter Gordon, Maggi Payne and Steve McKay to the recipe and you’ll realize that “Out of the Blue” can nearly be compared to that era’s obscure milestones.
TWENTY HERTZ – Twenty Hertz (ICR)
Paul Bradley created this gorgeous soundwork – and he can be proud of it. “Twenty Hertz” is among the deepest music I’ve listened to in many years, a record I already put in my CD player many times, each one more rewarding than the previous ones. Crepuscular and apparently tranquil, even if they leave a sense of underground movement sometimes, the atmospheres realized by Paul are that kind of peripheral ambience you can put in “hold” setting without even thinking about what’s going on, being aware that your mind and body function work much better. Mostly based on well spaced droning frequencies and waves of almost subliminal colours, this is an aural caress I believe will never pass by the board for the ones who will give it a try; quite often it reminds me the distant rumble of aircrafts at night, a sound that always gives me a great emotional charge ever since I was a little boy. For sure, with “Twenty Hertz” Bradley gains a decisive edge on many so-called top names in today’s ambient/electronic ranks, thanks to a few well conceived ideas, extremely beautiful timbral expressiveness and – dulcis in fundo – no esoterics/shamans/tibetan chants whatsoever. It’s strongly recommended to everyone and one of the best ICR releases.
2KILOS &MORE – 9,21 (Taalem)
My very first time with this French duo (also because this is their very first disc…) and, from what I see, I’m looking forward to hear their full-length release. 2Kilos &More conceive elaborate soundscapes mixing electronics, field recordings and actual instruments (guitar and melodica). There’s something about this music that I like very much, but I can’t quite explain what it is; probably, its architectural definition has something to do with it, since everything appears placed right where it’s needed. The influences (:zoviet*france: over everything, especially in the first track) are not overwhelmingly de-personalizing; the succession of techno elements, loops and field recordings is exquisitely deployed. And when one least expects it, a clean guitar line arrives to define a chordal morphing from sheer ambient music to oblique evocations of TV-movie soundtracks filtered by a giant deforming lens. I’m almost willing to bet my bottom dollar on this project’s value, which at a first glance seems pretty high.
TZESNE – Cliffs under the mist (Mystery Sea)
This is the first time that I listen to a solo album by Basque Txesus Garate (aka Tzesne), who uses “combinations of sound textures and field recordings” to produce his body of work under this nom d’art. To get influenced in the best possible way, Tzesne surrounded himself with the natural beauties in the region of Salas De Los Infantes (Burgos), for sure a place where solitude is exalted and whose description brought to my mind heartbreakingly resounding memories. That’s another story, though. It must be immediately told that the record – in its fairly linear concept – is very beautiful, at times really sumptuous in its perennial offering of distant murmurs, amplified shadows, gurgling currents, subterranean crawls. The music, which could be vaguely described as a hybrid of Michael Northam’s environment-based installations and Lull’s static rumbles, unfolds with gradual changes of frequencies and gradations, mostly from dusky drones and dampened loops. Someone would call this “isolationism”, but we’re not quite there despite the compositional circumstances; as a matter of fact, Garate furnishes the listeners with several access areas, maintaining the control on the consecutiveness of the events yet allowing the extraneous presences (that means us) to keep watching the developments. Trying to locate the derivations of the sonic content is futile and useless: this is something from which we have to be swallowed completely, and that can only be achieved by leaving this mass of sound free of expanding itself in the room (no headphones!). One of the most fascinating recent releases by the Belgian imprint, which gave me back an inch of trust in the genre.
UBEBOET – Spectra (Twenty Hertz)
Working under the Ubeboet moniker, Miguel A.Tolosa is a Spanish composer who creates beautifully layered soundscapes able to lighten up physical tensions during those moments in which our mind doesn’t want to accept the privileges of tranquillity. “Spectra” was made with field recordings, FM radio, tape recorder, lap steel guitar and laptop, yet often sounds like some sort of religious elegy, and I’m pretty sure that vocal sources are present in those tapes – if they aren’t, kudos to the originator for having my brain figuring them. Nine tracks whose levity meshes in excellent combinations with strokes from an unearthly kind of inspiration, so that everything appears as perennially suspended in a grey mist, but still very visible. A distant reference point could be found in Robert Rich’s earlier output; nevertheless, Tolosa owns a personal style which overcomes any possible comparison. By showing austerity even through its most arcane conceptions, Ubeboet’s music easily defends its luminous spot in the overcrowded field of ambient electronica, blessed as it is by a peculiar grace that separates it from the commonplace mass. “Spectra” is not really an album that you could call “innovative”; it’s a very honest one, though, and that counts more than anything else in the final judgement.
UBEBOET – Albada (The Locus Of)
Miguel Tolosa, mastermind behind the excellent Con-V label and a renowned creator of environmental soundscapes, used recordings that he made in Madrid and Asturias to present us with a 3-inch CD of engulfing urban din wrapped by a cocoon of infinite distant roars, like if the familiar noises (including men at work, traffic, rain and everything that can be heard during an average day in the city) were elongated, dilated, expanded by inserting them into a perennial thunder-and-wind reverberation as heard from a very long distance that swallows their primary identity. The whole track, lasting around 18 minutes, is based on this sensation of relative oppression that nevertheless results well accepted, almost desirable to the ears. When the piece ends, we experience the typical feeling of “missing a presence” that was mysterious and impenetrable, therefore fascinating with all the doubts that it generated. As I repeatedly state when writing about this kind of music, inventing something with pre-existent sounds is fairly easy nowadays. For sure, it’s not so simple to make it sound as good as this one.
UBEBOET – Praeter (Con-V)
I formally demand an urgent reissue of the outstanding music contained by this unassuming 3-inch CD in a larger number of copies, for allowing only 25 souls to be enriched by such a graceful offer is not as much as necessary. This is probably the best material ever put together by Ubeboet, period. “Praeter” starts with a chanting female voice increasingly modified into mesmeric stupor, the piece’s harmonic wealth causing a state of rapturous delight; the finale is characterized by field recordings of rain, seagulls and children intoning a cyclical nursery rhyme, the whole fading to black. “Supra Lunam” is a veritable painting of daydream, raised on what my ears recognize as fragments of madrigals seamed, looped and immersed in fluid textures of, perhaps, sampled strings whose incidence is nevertheless “barely there”; it could even be that the reverberations of the voices are doing the work. The effect is a stunningly gorgeous soundscape that elevates this little disc to fine art status, without a doubt among the most expressive drone-based “spectral ambient” (as the composer himself defines his style) that I’ve had the luck of receiving in recent times.
MIRKO UHLIG – VIVMMI (Ex Ovo)
The first solo album by Aalfang Mit Pferdekopf’s mastermind is at one time a bucolic exploration of self and – on the other hand – an irony-scented journey amidst the many sensations that one gathers when in direct contact with nature. “This is about loss and union”, writes Uhlig on the press sheet; I don’t seem to fully understand what’s exactly meant by Mirko, but it describes quite well the peculiar concoction of processed field recordings, slightly detuned piano and guitars and tone generators which render these pieces a delightful hybrid of outlandish ornithology, twisted evolutions of anti-new age canons and serious tries for getting stoned without really meaning it. Every once in a while, a “theme” – a nice melody that seems to materialize from the water gurgling in a sinkhole – comes out to remind us about our direction in life and after. These muted dreams are not frozen in detachment but truly heartwarming; “VIVMMI” is specially recommended at late night. The rest, tells again Uhlig, is silence.
MIRKO UHLIG – Storm: outside calm tamed (Aal)
It starts with a nicely bewitching electric guitar spiral, you’re willing to abandon your body to the flow, then – bang! – Herr Uhlig makes your pacemaker award an extra ball before tilting, for an attack of sweetly furious distortion – more or less the meeting of Lou Reed’s “Metal Machine Music” with a poignant melody that William Basinski’s distant cousin could have stolen from his archive – hits you on the chin. After a while the melodic hook becomes more evident, even if the sulphuric corrosion that submerges it would make Lasse Marhaug green with envy. Uhlig declares that “for more than half of the title you believe yourself in a time loop”, but while I’m listening – TV switched on mute during Moto GP races, outside rainy and cold as in the worst winter days – I just think that I must have some problem if at 43 I still choose to spend my Sunday in such a near-human condition. The distortion grows, so does the instability of my tranquillity; maybe now I see why Mirko refers to a “tamed” calm. To think that our last emails discussed Genesis 1969-1975…Fittingly, the end comes abruptly with disturbed electric piano chords recalling the intro to Peter Gabriel’s “Family snapshot”. This guy is so unpredictable, you would just adopt him; and since he also says that this record is “about love – not being in love”, play this thing loud if you want your partner to leave you without an apparent reason.
MIRKO UHLIG -The rabbit’s logbook (Field Muzick)
Too bad that this work comes on a 3-inch disc and lasts only 18 minutes, because I sincerely feel that it’s one of the best things that Mirko Uhlig has ever released. His music possesses a heart-wrecking sadness, typical of certain adolescent artistic influences (that I discovered to share with him despite our 17-year difference of age but I won’t reveal them anyway, hehe) which predisposes our soul with that sensitive quid that makes us perceive a distant drone or an electronically modified utterance as something that’s just inevitable. And, what’s more, Uhlig is one of the few ones able to cut the oneiric bliss of his creations right in the moment of maximum ecstasy; here it happens at least twice. Checking his bio notes I even discovered that he was born in Aachen, where Christoph Heemann comes from, so I suppose that there must be something in the air over there. Still, do not expect photocopies of “Front Row Centre” or “Aftersolstice” here; better leave those droning birds alone, they’re still flying a little higher. Uhlig has a (quite unpredictable) vision of his own, and this record – which fuses dream, melancholy and absence of nervous peaks in a comprehensive hazy blur – should be developed into something similar, only lasting a couple of hours. Or, at least, as long as we get our well deserved relief from the ugly faces from the outside world.
MIRKO UHLIG – The Nightmiller (Mystery Sea)
A low mastering level, the instruments’ incidence often indiscernible, all sounds very cuddly to the ears, no actual accidents. Isn’t this picture appropriate to what unadulterated ambient should sound like? Mirko Uhlig has undeniably generated the prototypical intangible album (this is praise, OK?). The three tracks of “The Nightmiller” are barely audible (unless you listen to them in absolute silence), their secreted details even less, but guess what: they work fine, at least for the large part. This is the kind of record that one can play ad infinitum no problem – in particular, the marvelous “Wooden waiting” – without realizing that the entire day went by. Its origin is (perhaps) a combination of synthesizers and processing, yet I wouldn’t be shocked if cloaked field recordings were included in there. MU has nothing to declare, for the better. These subdued, lethargic waves crawl under the floor to silently encircle this listener, taken by a concentration that the music enhances rather than breaking. The whole becomes increasingly mesmerizing; at one point, we seem to hear buried songs from the opposite side of the room. It’s just a false impression of course, as Uhlig’s structures are much uncomplicated, in exact antagonism to certain productions of his alter-ego project, Aalfang Mit Pferdekopf. But, besides being unfussy, they’re also gracefully efficient, which ultimately spells the classification of this CD as “quite good”.
MIRKO UHLIG / DRONÆMENT – Farewell fields (Nextera)
Let’s just put this straight from the beginning: this album must be approached as an installation soundtrack, even if it’s not. Don’t look for compositional tricks or complications – there are none. Two separate tracks: the first, by Uhlig, is completely based on a very simple, slow diatonic scale of clean guitar notes that goes on for about 24 minutes upon an electronic drone and a glimpse of taped voices that, in the far distance, suggest “something” to our psyche. Not exactly a new discovery, but gentle on the nerves and delicately textured; a good company while I’m writing. Dronæment’s piece was captured in a live performance, this too taking shape from fixed elements that create the necessary hypnosis; over the course of the basic background, barely perceptible changes and pre-recorded tapes appear like interferences – a little more frequently than in Uhlig’s music, also because the track is seven minutes longer – so that the initial calmness appears as slightly disturbed, at least in a few moments. The disturbance is not enough anyway to alter the overall character of this CD, which should not be considered as anything different from a tranquil presence in a hour of your life. Avoid headphones.
MIRKO UHLIG / TOBIAS FISCHER / KEITH BERRY / JÖRG EGER – Mandala Vol.1 (Ex Ovo)
The content of this 3-inch CD is a 19-minute piece where Uhlig started with five minutes of recorded material, then passed it to Fischer who added his contribution, then the same was made with Berry and Eger. The sonic equivalent of a Chinese whisper. To a more concrete description, this is quite a strange artifact because the featured styles are not meshed but, as told, consecutive. Therefore, Uhlig’s deformations and reversed recordings introduce a couple of different majestic drone landscapes washed in the waters of electronic emotionality by Fischer and Berry; the whole ends with a peculiar turn to acoustic visions pregnant with steel strings and slides, courtesy of Eger. It works well as a soundtrack for a tranquil evening, claiming our attention in several instances. In any case, a product that never deviates from the average quality level of the participants’ known output.
BIRGIT ULHER – Scatter (Creative Sources)
“Scattered” is an adjective that we commonly associate to “leaves”. Indeed this concise essay for solo trumpet made me think about city streets after a heavy rain, where not only leaves but also remnants of newspapers, small bunches of additional rubbish and watered car oil create a patchy view of dejected reality. Contrarily – but not too much – to her usual canon, Ulher makes good use of long silences as a contrasting medium for her affirmations, often utilizing a solid timbre which gets inevitably modified by the extended techniques she’s commonly associated to. Birgit’s persistently non-conventional melodic developments alternate with ill-structured whispers and perennial leakages from an instrument that, in her sapient hands, becomes a machine emitting spurious signals of intelligent timbral dismemberment.
BIRGIT ULHER / LARS SCHERZBERG / MICHAEL MAIERHOF – Nordzucker (Creative Sources)
Recorded live in Berlin, this is a trumpet/sax/cello trio moving along the coordinates of classic reduction but with a little more margin for the convergence of silence and big splinters of what often sounds like contemporary chamber music, with some old Art Zoyd improvisational flavour. Feeding their explorative needs, the musicians operate their machines like if they were throwing stones in a pool at regular intervals, then stopping to observe the ripples generated, finally throwing more objects to change those (ir)regular geometries. There is no apparent friction among the instrumental voices, with Maierhof’s cello contributing to the general temperament with touches of resonant wood, in a nice amalgam with the more introverted reciprocal responsiveness between the different air currents by Uhler’s trumpet and Scherzberg’s sax, which seem to accept the third of a perfect pair without any defensiveness. This three-legged animal walks around at its own peculiar pace, finally arriving right there where it’s needed.
BIRGIT ULHER / GINO ROBAIR – Sputter (Creative Sources)
Reading “trumpet” and “energized surfaces + voltage made audible” as sources used by Ulher and Robair, one has the certainty of a totally unconventional sound morphology; that’s completely confirmed by the rheumatic fever hallucinations and the electric vegetable peeling coming from the speakers throughout “Sputter”. Birgit and Gino live off their respective priorities, finding hundreds of meeting points during this cycle of leaf-curling conversations where the apparent contrast of air and electricity prints instead a rare collection of ideographical aural spermatozoa whose procreative energy is immune to boredom. The immaterial yet rusted pocket money exchanged by the artists during repeated scoffing timbral outbursts and intuitive elucubrations is enough for their music to inhibit any form of relaxation as bubbles, spurts and shuffles pollute the river of instant gratification. At one and the same time lapidary and petulant, “Sputter” belongs in Creative Sources’ most fertile territory.
BIRGIT ULHER / LOU MALLOZZI / MICHAEL ZERANG – Landscape: recognizable (Creative Sources)
Is it possible to keep pet monsters in pots and bottles? That’s what Ulher, Mallozzi and Zerang tried to achieve through their music, an unpredictable melange of electroacoustic fantasies which at times sound like a meeting between Pierre Henry and Dewey, Huey and Louie playing with the French acousmatic master’s tapes while he’s gone for a cup of coffee. Ulher – a constant record-releaser recently – spreads her ill-mannered trumpet textures all over the place, conjuring forth images of hilarious rebellion while incinerating whoever talks about “patterns”. Her evolutions are exalted by Mallozzi and Zerang’s strange world of birdcalls and deformed voices chattering upon unstable foundations of turntables and assorted percussion and objects. Variegated to the point of pre-insanity, nevertheless the sound sources are nicely used to create a very assimilable composite which appears as a spontaneous deconstruction of certainties by three artists who literally kill our boredom through their playing; the contortions of the pre-recorded voices do the rest, straining the reality of design until no one knows what will happen next.
BIRGIT ULHER / DAMON SMITH / MARTIN BLUME – Sperrgut (Balance Point Acoustics)
Currently in a very prolific phase of her career, here Birgit Ulher joins forces with bass player Damon Smith and percussionist Martin Blume in a lively trio which applies various methods to concoct a lively expressiveness, enhanced by the musicians’ fine technical abilities. At times almost jubilant, the enthusiastic incitement of these conversations becomes a reflection on contrasting vibrations, enriched by emphatic twists and percussive knots which keep the attention level quite high. The reciprocal responsiveness shown by the participants throughout the nine tracks of this album is particularly significant: Ulher’s trumpet maintains – not without difficulty – a strong sense of denial of everything that could be defined as “common”, while Smith and Blume’s division of the low-frequency range creates additional substance, thus contributing to the transformation of this music from a complex miniature to a dedicated exploration of challenging languages.
BIRGIT ULHER / ERNESTO RODRIGUES / CARLOS SANTOS – Doppelgänger (Creative Sources)
During the first minutes of “The idle class”, opening track of the CD, it becomes instantly clear that this could be declared a fundamental piece of work by the end. And – let me ruin your curiosity by anticipating the verdict – it certainly is, without ifs and buts. The juxtaposition between Rodrigues’ wheezing viola and Ulher’s squeaking-and-whistling trumpet is already a thing of beauty in itself, and Santos’ sampling expansions furnish the improvised materials with a wealth of qualities that range from the obscurely celestial to the threateningly inexorable. When the coldness gets unbearable, sparse gestural activity and less-than-intuitive cracklings come to the rescue, similarly to the popping noise of a log in the fire, taking the harmonic factor out of the equation in “The one” until reversed pictures, sucked-in aural images and frail ghosts of truth surround us. “Welt am Draht” might cause eyestrain to your residual animistic dreams, for there’s no running from the choking entombment of instrumental light that this incredibly introverted dialogue elicits, its scraping glottology indicating that chants and songs are definitively no more. In “The third man”, sonic ingravescence and quartz-like refractions tie their tongues, yet what comes outs feels like epidermal gracility worsened by a damp, rusty environment. “Face/Off” shows the will of a body to rebel to an upcoming paralysis, while also being the nearest “classic EAI” moment of the whole disc, a lot of great grimy textures amidst irregular scansions and rhythmic failures. “Johnny Stecchino” ends the spectacle in full-gurgle-and-groan mode, reminding how absurd the concept of “relaxing music” is. Here’s the core of the matter: the right combination of sounds that really change personae is never tranquilizing – either it seriously moves something or it is useless, a wallpaper presence. Then again, silence is better at that point. “Doppelgänger” doesn’t belong in the watch-the-paint-dry category: listen to it very carefully, discovering that this is one for the ages. If you manage to find the key to open its creaking door, that is.
TOMAS ULRICH / ELLIOTT SHARP / CARLOS “ZINGARO” / KEN FILIANO – T.E.C.K. String 4tet (Clean Feed)
This project was born from a joke in a conversation between Clean Feed’s boss Pedro Costa and violinist Carlos “Zingaro”, in which the former hypothesized a string quartet including Vanessa Mae and Yo Yo Ma. After laughing off the chance, somehow the concept lingered on, the result being this volcanic CD recorded at Teatro Lethes of Faro (Portugal) by the “Zingaro” himself, Tomas Ulrich (cello), Elliott Sharp (acoustic guitar, National Tricone) and Ken Filiano (double bass). Four completely different backgrounds, which in this case are hardly recognizable, fuse into a collective sound where each musician’s timbral personality shines brightly in a difficult music that needs many attentive listens before one really starts to penetrate its essence. No expedients are necessary when the creative flow is set in motion; the large part of the improvisations is gifted with a Webernesque quality (also typical of certain scores for strings by Frank Zappa, circa “Yellow Shark” – go check, fellows), the musicians capitalizing on the percussive aspects of their instrumental techniques – pluck and pizzicato rule since the very beginning of “Levitation” – in an avalanche of unanswered questions regarding the vague idea of a “tonality” which never materializes. A more dramatic use of the glissando and, in general, a full exploitation of the most stirring arco executions are to be heard in pieces like “If not now, when” and “Ripples”, while Sharp conjures up bionic eBow elegies in the final track “As hard as it comes…”. Highly impressive are of course the extremely varying dynamics that the artists bring to the table, which rarely culminate in veritable “contrasts”, depicting instead four zigzagging lines of lively acuteness that, in the moments of intersection, generate sparkles of remarkable expressiveness. Here’s to hoping that this group goes on with this kind of research for a long time, as this first outing is already something to archive in the “memorable” section of our files.
UNCLE E. – Deep in the bushes (Antboy)
Timothy Pledger is an Australian composer and film-maker who’s also the leader of Bohjass, an experimental group that supplied the sound sources for “Deep in the bushes”, released by Pledger as Uncle E. (his third release under this alias). Described as “an allegory on the ineptitude of politics in the 21st century, where so much is taken by so few and so little given to so many”, the record is indeed commensurate to a dejected electroacoustic reflection on the images of a world observed by a tiny window, with an incessant flow of thoughts and considerations about the death of hope and the decline of normal everyday desires. It’s more or less a continuous circuit of variations on the same dismal samples, which are looped and layered until their presence in your room becomes a necessity, with powerful contrasts of low frequencies that contribute to destabilize the overall disheartening feel of the CD a little bit. Quite atypical for Antboy – equally recommended nevertheless.
UNIVERS ZERO – Implosion (Cuneiform)
Lots of new directions here: Univers Zero have opened the doors to a more linear, almost elegiac juxtaposition of influences, yet they still hold on to their basic personality. “Implosion” optimizes the cohesion of the scores into an utmost gratification for the hearing, showing that Denis’ talent is capable of developing schemes from simple electric parallelisms and spearhead crafty melodic designs, but also through past reminiscences – a few almost literal quotes of “Uncle Meat”-era Frank Zappa make their presence felt in “Rapt d’Abdallah” and “Mellotronic”. This multitude of colours adds a touch of intelligence to the tracks, keeping the lamp of this mythical ensemble burning luminously; theirs is a path no other group will be able to walk on with the same intensity.
UNIVERS ZERO – Live (Cuneiform)
For their first official live album, Univers Zero recorded an intriguing selection of their material in Belgium and France, in front of attentive and enthusiastic audiences. Daniel Denis’ septet plays with rarely heard fervour and stylistical consistency throughout the set, the musicians well conscious of their role of carriers of that RIO torch which – in some other instances – does not burn with the same intensity anymore. All the compositions were penned by the leader, his drumming still a thing of beauty to hear after all these years; Michel Berckmans and Kurt Budé, fabulous reed/horn players in every aspect, depict most of the thematic excursions with graceful solemnity and admirable competence, perfectly complemented by Martin Lauwers’ violin rewinding our memory tape back of many suggestive frames. Bassist Eric Plantain’s quasi-funky approach to the scores gives a welcome touch of smart modernism to already enthralling matters, while the keyboard work of Peter Van Den Berghe acts as a perfect trait d’union among the band’s different artistic personalities. Univers Zero’s importance in the history of modern chamber music is once again confirmed by this, one of their overall best albums that makes us hopeful in an even more productive, truly “progressive” longevity.
UNSK – Tidszon (Creative Sources)
The ideas contained in “Tidszon” flow so naturally that the CD meshes splendidly with the environment of the Saturday morning I’m listening in. The alternance of soft blows and irregular squeakings by trumpet and sax, respectively played by Birgit Ulher and Martin Küchen, is the base on which a four-way interchange develops with Lise-Lott Norelius’ electronics and Raymond Strid’s percussives. The artists also make good use of “normal” objects (you guess) which, quite awkwardly, stretch the boundaries between scheme and utter deconstruction. The textural palette, quilted in a tireless search for varieties, is undoubtedly ample and often surprisingly strategical, making you expect something that actually never develops the way you thought. This is resourceful, limpid stuff resisting our will of giving it a name to have it fitted into some kind of contextual trap.
UNSOLICITED MUSIC ENSEMBLE – Bulbs (Slam)
Martin Küchen (saxes), Tony Wren (double bass) and Raymond Strid (percussion) constitute the skeleton of a very intelligent trio; “Bulbs” represents them carefully in all their artistry. Although improvised situations like this are quite often bringers of mostly uncontrolled ideas and “molto vivace” playing, in this case we have a major difference as UME tend to privilege the unsaid and the not-so-loud speaking. Their dialogues never indulge in over-exercise, instead giving the listener an idea of “continuous presence” even when his concentration is not at the maximum level. Throughout the music, Martin, Tony and Raymond are actively contributing to an overall gut feeling about something ready to come out, never completely affirmed but with its head carefully peeking out. This excellent CD should have a well defined place in any collection.
UNSTABLE ENSEMBLE – Embers (Family Vineyard)
My first meeting with Unstable Ensemble. I read “AMM, MEV” on the press snippets and take a seat on my couch, receiving the wrong kind of answer to my expectations. These guys work at their craft like children pretending they’re doing homework while mum takes a peek – then, after she’s gone, they start flying paper airplanes, throwing objects one another, reading comics and turning the TV on. At times, sources mix with the environment in a sort of “concrete ambient music” which is kept at low-budget level by some rough manifestations of percussive clatter amidst electric buzzes and penetrating stabs (mostly from Eric Weddle’s mixing board), then all of a sudden the bodies of these intrusions in silence change shape and intensity, distancing the overall mood from excessive seriousness and from those reductionist avenues that are becoming a little too frequented these days. It’s nice stuff – in its own special way.
CAESAR URSIC – Lithophonia (Mystery Sea)
“Gradual decompression”, third track of this CD, is a dark masterpiece alone worthy of extremely high degrees of laudability. Indeed the whole “Lithophonia” – made with sounds captured in an old hospital – is a positive example in many of its aspects. Not afraid to show influences (Lustmord on top of all) Caesar Ursic’s music slides through a world of forgotten ruins and sculpted sonorities, as to look for the very sources of microfossil stains. Grey perspectives accompany the listener throughout, indicating a steady path to obscurity that only seldom is interrupted by the appearance of a dim light observed through breaks in the wall. The weight of solitude is an always present heavy burden and the whole disc is an exercise in sustaining open-eyed nightmares.
UTT – Monoptic stylus transmission Pt.1 (Evelyn)
Turntable debris through a series of highly modified circuits (plus melting on fire parts…) is what this CD is about. Forget about romantic galore of evocative loops and nostalgic drones: this is the sound of a slice of cheese left in a shut car for a couple of hours in mid-summer, eaten with rust juice and plastic sauce. In a weird zone between industrial sound arson and unlikely marginal forms, UTT convinces me – after a struggling listen – with the combative impetus of his vibrational power. His totally lo-fi deconstructions dig a deserved tiny niche among the myriads of turntable manipulators around; here, at least, there’s a bit of rage and lots of sardonic smiles.
V. – Pa Usa Turnee 2002 (The Locus of Assemblage)
After a kinda post-industrial beginning marked by a thundering drum pattern and heavily darkish sound ruins, the record reveals itself as a nightmare of drones and obscure electro-organic varieties, where there’ s no window over a green valley but only loads of hypnotic residues and one-way streets to desolated urban quagmires. As the music goes on it cripples boundaries between “good” and “evil”, maturating into parallel experiences of transcendental prevalence where even bad creatures are happy to help finding the calm waters for a tranquil navigation on the front rank of a lost vessels’ fleet. A cross between anxiety and contemplation, this CD is worth of serious consideration among the supporters of the genre: V. never turn back, going straight to the point excluding any nonsense.
VAPAA – Hum Hum Hum (Last Visible Dog)
Looks like Finland is a good place for contemporary psychedelia. I’m not that expert in this topic, yet from what was revealed by this CD there’s a definite honesty in the work of Vapaa, a “loose collective” here represented by its basic nucleus (Joel Kivela, Tiitus Petajaniemi, Keijo Virtanen and Jari-Pekka Koho). Instrumentation and methods change according to the piece, including lots of different timbral nuances, both electric and acoustic. The tracks that I appreciated best are the drone-based mantras such as the opener “Sarastaa”, very well made and full of interesting developments – even throat singing – over the course of a static trance. Other selections revolve towards a mixture of Krautrock and Pink Floyd, slow tempos and clean, spaced-out guitars à la “Careful with that axe, Eugene” minus the explosion and the cries. Certain parts are more quirky and tending to a fair enough dissonant improvisation, curiously unpredictable and also funny at times. The band sounds organically cohesive, everything seems to flow quite effortlessly, there’s nothing that can be defined as “annoying” or “boring”. Vapaa won’t paralyze your attention but certainly don’t sound puerile, either; by focusing principally on the hypnotic side of their music, they could come out with some serious stuff. Meanwhile, let’s enjoy this murmuring instrumental tranquillity without asking too much.
JUHA VALKEAPAA – Siberian summer (Testing Ground)
Unusual music by a Finnish composer. This 19-minute track is based on simple yet effective elements: a subtle electronic drone, ritual/popular chanting, strange outbursts of trumpets. The general atmosphere is pretty calm and detached with just a little movement under the sound crust. Being this a soundtrack to an installation, nevertheless Juha manages to catch the attention and caress the nerves, which is a lovely result per se; I’d be really happy to hear a full length version of something like this.
CLAUS VAN BEBBER / ERHARD HIRT – Tefiton (Anthropometrics)
Two important activists in the German scene of electroacoustic improvisation, Van Bebber and Hirt chop and munch big chunks of sound – generated by themselves via records, electronics and guitar – to achieve a beautiful balance of low-budget dadaism and captivating repetition; think Zoviet France and Christian Marclay meeting for a coffee and deciding to have all the bar’s patrons participating to the music born from that conversation. Van Bebber’s work with records is intelligently unpredictable, clicks and skips alternating to locked grooves like the ones in the final track “Monir”, a fetching hypnotic piece featuring tenor saxophonist Ulrich Krieger as a guest. Hirt’s profile is less noticeable but equally effective: he provides the large part of this creature’s heartbeat via mesmerizing superimpositions of semi-cosmic irrational lines, sheer noise and brain-twisting trips through disorientating turbulences. Although an old fashioned vinyl LP, “Tefiton” is nevertheless a quite forward-looking release, well worth of the effort of pursuing it.
CLAUS VAN BEBBER / PAUL HUBWEBER – Vinyl + Blech IV (Nurnichtnur)
Certain improvisers and sound artists, probably more gifted with ability in the public relation department, seem destined to be considered luminous geniuses even when they produce utter shit. On the opposite pole, people like Van Bebber and Hubweber keep releasing music that’s humorous, intelligent and, in a way, addictive (I listened to this CD thrice in a few hours, each time discovering new funny particulars) but they remain confined in the realms of neverheardness, except for a few knowledgeable loonies who enjoy what they do. As suggested by the title, this is the fourth instalment of a series born in 1998, coming in a square metal box with delicious internal artwork including the disc itself, which looks like a vinyl record (this edition is limited to 50 copies, ladies and gentlemen, so hurry up). “Vinyl + Blech IV” is deranged turntablism-cum-electrified instrument at the highest degree of unpredictability: think about a crazed Christian Marclay dialoguing with the animals in a zoo rather than exchanging loops with Jeck or Schaefer. Van Bebber’s skipping records create interlocking patterns and spastic spirals that, in their clownish wryness, find a way to become the necessary access key to a warped soundclashing nirvana. Hallucinated mantras and foggy rumbles are nicely turned to account by Hubweber who, besides being an active manipulator himself, adds a few absurd trombone lines to give the music even more nuances of degradation. Should these guys be selected for sound installations or gallery soundtracks somewhere in England, London Bridge is likely to fall down for real this time.
CLAUS VAN BEBBER / MICHAEL VORFELD – Kreisel (Creative Sources)
Using turntables, percussion and stringed instruments, Van Bebber and Vorfeld explicate their artistic nosiness through a kind of contractility that places events and forms in an ever-changing resilience of unexpected patterns, where non-usable noise and snippets of pre-recorded expressions are filtered from masses of discarded materials. While magnifying tense elucubrations based on corrugated frequencies and destructive recurrences, the sonic trajectories of “Kreisel” are visible from different angles; what’s missing in terms of silence and space is recovered by giving the listener no options, except a thorough acceptance of an uneasy jargon made of sudden delusions and betrayed expectations. Tendentially self-destructive, this music depicts semi-serious revelations about ugliness, which is exploited until its juicy extremism becomes the distillate of something usually unsafe for the ears, but nevertheless important for our search of truth.
ANNETTE VANDE GORNE – Exils (Empreintes DIGITALes)
Belgian Vande Gorne (Charleroi, 1946), who studied musicology and electroacoustic composition with Guy Reibel and Pierre Schaeffer, was attracted many years ago by the music of François Bayle and Pierre Henry, and also by “the revolutionary nature of this art form”. Question: is this really valid in 2008? Are we still able to get enthused by a kind of expression that keeps wandering around the same coordinates, although in different contexts? “Exils” replies both yes and no. The audio DVD lasts over 80 minutes, which in itself could be a problematic factor, if one that can be eliminated when the addressees are well prepared. Yet there is a fair chance of cutting out the majority of a potential audience by introducing extremely long pieces – mainly built upon spoken segments – and placing them smack dab in the middle of the program, which happens here with “Fragments de letter…” and “Exil, chant II”, the latter based on texts by Saint-John Perse. As intellectually challenging as they might be, listening becomes a pretty heavy task after a while: 35 minutes of theatrically recited voices (although with background treatments) are almost a record in the record, a bit strident when compared with the brisk pace and colourful variety of the other tracks. In truth, Vande Gorne is very good in assembling snippets and mutating them into scarcely recognizable entities (another voice-related track, “Vox Alia”, is one of the disc’s most absorbing sections) but, above all, she has an evident penchant for indefinite abstraction, a field where her studio mastery shines brightly, just check the gorgeous spectra of “Figures d’espace”. I’d like sound artists to concentrate on the essence of the audio materials, not so much on the academic aspects, provided that sonic exploration is really their core interest. This would have been a great edition if only a little more concise and, in a way, less “literate”. As it stands, it remains an interesting testimony of this acousmatic composer’s vision.
ROBERT VAN HEUMEN – Fury (Creative Sources)
In Robert Van Heumen’s music there seems to be no more than a partial correspondence connecting the original notion and the ultimate outcome. In fact, although he talks about “the primitive in men” in his rationalization of this recording, the forces pushing humans to fury are neither portrayed in detail nor really felt by the listener. Maybe a concept of “growing tension” could be appropriate to exemplify the sonic content of this CD, which is not an easy task at all. Let’s just say that the two long segments giving shape to the disc were realized with the same fundamental sources, including a woman speaking of clashes between colonists and Indians, a few notes of acoustic guitar, utterly deformed orchestral timbres and what’s akin to a cross of extreme synthesis and shortwave emanations. The materials are worked and moulded with erudite imagination by the composer, who succeeds in creating a soundscape that’s not even remotely associable to anything this writer heard of late. There’s a sense of impenetrability at work, like a cautious intention of disguising the essential core of the composition by recurring to a mixture of vibrations, rumbling frequencies and extraneous elements, only rarely made gentler by female apparitions – a cyclical whispering voice, for example, and the above mentioned lady recalling the old times – but in general tending to that glacial disposition that renders the man from the street unwilling to perk up the ears throughout a complex electroacoustic project. In this particular circumstance, it would be their loss as “Fury” is an intriguing effort, whose effect on the psyche – especially when listened with a headphone capable of absorbing the impressive dynamic socks of the piece – is evident, exactly as the will of repeating the experience time and again to better comprehend the peculiar fascination of this unusual arrangement of events that doesn’t want to know of being memorized, instead offering further indications with each new listen.
FRED VAN HOVE – Journey (Psi)
Recorded at the Mulhouse Jazz Festival in the summer of 2007, this set by Fred Van Hove is an interesting example of his solo approach, although not exactly an eye-opener in terms of proper unexpectedness and improvisational fickleness. In the liners, Jean-Michel Van Schouwburg correctly emphasizes two factors, specifically the sense of “inner architecture” and predetermined structure that Van Hove applies during a recital, and the ludicrous comparison of his style to Cecil Taylor’s, brought forth by “idle critics”. Both are good points: the most salient feature of this concert is indeed the extreme intelligibility in the exposition of concepts, sparkling lines and overpowering chords alternated throughout brisk runs and intense suggestions, seemingly following a prototypical method by a man who apparently loves precision and full control also in the most emotionally-altered progression. On the other hand, having read that one of the biggest influences in the pianist’s playing has been the carillon of Antwerpen’s Cathedral, and that he played other carillons elsewhere, it is not surprising then to realize that certain moments in which overlying harmonics and resounding tolls are drawn out bring to mind the recent production of Charlemagne Palestine, himself acquainted with that kind of practice. All in all, this is an adequately rewarding listen, but not a masterwork.
TIMO VAN LUIJK & KRIS VANDERSTRAETEN – Costa Del Luna (La Scie Dorée)
Timo Van Luijk (zither, flute, keyboards, tape) is half of the In Camera duo – the second element being of course Christoph Heemann – while this is probably the first time that I met Kris Vanderstraeten (percussion), but I’m not really sure about this. “Costa Del Luna” is a vinyl album – a format that many artists active in this area still prefer to CD – containing a collection of rather nocturnal atmospheres based on improvised settings. Amidst ample spaces and doubtful movements, small percussive elucubrations and detailed crossings of different rubs and abrasions morph continuously, their shapes changing according to the succession of contexts. In the background, the presence of Van Luijk’s taped paraphernalia contributes to the overall scent of altered reality which defines the whole record, something where stability is reached with a degree of difficulty and doesn’t last for long. The sound of (just guessing) a toy piano often gives the music a sort of childhood’s memory aroma, at the same instant contributing to a kind of “complex ingenuousness” which prevents the mind from predicting the constant changes of setting proposed by the couple. It’s neither an overly eccentric work, nor exactly classifiable in a “category”; it just stays in the borderland between anarchic improvisation and nightmarish vision, without conventional reference points yet generating a sense of familiarity that helps us in recognizing the trademarks of a well-documented artistic pedigree.
JEAN-MICHEL VAN SCHOUWBURG / KRIS VANDERSTRAETEN / JEAN DEMEY – Sureau (Creative Sources)
The central figure of this release is obviously Van Schouwburg, definitely among the best vocal improvisers these days, his skilful theatrical methods at the basis of a gallery of impersonations animating a cross-pollination of experiment and satirical spirit that guarantees lots of fun and some inevitable question about the possibilities of human voice. In “Sureau”, Vanderstraeten (percussion & objects) and Demey (double bass) build strangely swaying skeletons around JMVS’ inventions. If there’s something not exactly perfect here, we’re not allowed to see it. Even if the record’s substantial length might not encourage newcomers, and also those who want things to sound always the same (especially when singing is involved), one can’t help but manifest at least a degree of awe for such a flexible approach to improvised vocalism. Van Schouwburg’s guttural rage, sweetened repression and inconsolable crying are just three of many frequently changing masks. He can switch from a weeping lost-in-a-shopping-mall baby to a third-hand ogre in a split second, the result being utter amusement for the audience, constantly subjected to a bombardment of contrasting features. Rubbery pitch alterations and veritable cataracts of expressions are a gimme for this nice man, whose recorded output is still scarce given the unquestionable ability. Vanderstraeten and Demey support him sensibly, creating first-class backgrounds by highlighting the less evident correspondences with the class, allow me to write it, of a rhythm section from hell – if you look for “regular” rhythms, that is. Eventual incomprehensibilities are more than excusable, for this is a serious case of tightrope walking over perilous musical areas, the place where the crocodiles of lethargic improvisation are used to spill tears after having swallowed their daily dose of pre-digested formats.
TOBIAS C. VAN VEEN & TOMAS PHILLIPS – If not, winter (And/OAR)
And/OAR keeps releasing what’s among the best electroacoustic music today, this CD being a classic case in point. “If not, winter” is rather cryptic, even starting from the pretty hermetic – almost Hafler Trio style – liner notes; its initial parts move around an underground vital pulse of which we can somehow feel the distant power – like hearing the muffled sound of highway traffic while being silent in a room with the windows shut – while additional beautiful segments of cloudy moods become at times intimidating, effortlessly assertive in all their spreading energy. The long title track explores low-frequency areas, provoking a physical reaction when our auricular membranes are on the receiving end of an impressive mass of barely contained aggregates of huge vibrations. The tendency to motionlessness which constitutes this magnificent record’s complexion does not preclude us from being emotionally involved; these soundscapes are a perfect soundtrack for loners, embued as they are of immaterial drones and undefined suspensions – substantially ethereal, so to speak.
VARIABLE GEOMETRY ORCHESTRA – Stills (Creative Sources)
This is the Creative Sources release number 100. An historic goal reached by such a small label, therefore worth of a serious celebration. That’s why Ernesto Rodrigues prepared this triple CD featuring the VGO, a marauding multi-timbral collective comprising several among the finest Portuguese (and not only that) avant-garde artists, all able to grace our ears with their ability of performing impromptu. Among the many, Sei Miguel, Fala Mariam, Johannes Krieger, Nuno Rebelo, Carlos Santos, Rafael Toral, Alípio C. Neto. Rodrigues himself describes the conducting procedures as “balancing the sound masses that travel in the acoustic space, dictating the construction of the real-time composition, and thus revealing the organized juxtaposition of specific instruments as mobile sound groups”. The five lengthy tracks were recorded live (in Lisbon and Barreiro) in different settings – art galleries to festivals to jazz stores. Rather than swallowing an impossible “regular” review, take a look at the notes that this writer jotted down in reaction to the sounds heard, just to have vague indications of what’s contained in this boiler.
First disc: a single cut of about 54 minutes, no muteness at all, many moments of gradually growing tension without looking back, lots of instrumental muscularity, dynamics tending to the “fortissimo” in the final fraction of the piece, where the majority of the players literally screams. Distant similarities: “Strings with Evan Parker”, Centipede’s “Septober Energy”. Tendency to a magmatic chaos, sometimes morphing into semi-structured libertarianism, but the musical flux remains concentrated in well determined batches of timbres and interrelations. Appreciable balance between electric and acoustic instrumental tinctures.
Second disc: additional prominence is often given to the “brass section”, the improvisational ebb and flow making the whole sound even less organized; calm appears every once in a while, the musicians apparently taking a little break in the battlefield before deploying the next attack strategies. A little bit more “experimental” in terms of general sonority, with no promise of good behaviour from anyone. Pluck and hit techniques are applied sparsely amidst the different families of instruments. Lots of electronic interferences coming and going. Delirious accordion dissonance. Not always ear-pleasing, yet perennially stimulating materials.
Third disc: starting with a throbbing pulse, the group reaches for the highest level of liberation, often bordering on sheer confusion. This time, strings, brass and electronics search for a common denominator that in other places had been difficult to imagine, finding it in a mixture of raging exhalation and pulverizing power. No one suffers in silence, everybody sticks to the amalgamation of happiness and excitement that the occasion generated. This is probably the most “freewheeling” segment of the set, and Rodrigues’ hasty “obrigado” at the end of the record looks like an excuse to cut short something that could have gone on for a whole night.
If all of the above wasn’t clear enough, we’re talking about a great album. Besides the CS cognoscenti, also fans of Emanem’s aesthetics should lend an ear or two. Conducted improvisation at a high level of maturity, still vibrating enough to keep listeners wide awake.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – The All Angels concerts (Emanem)
Taking its name by a series of concerts held in St.Michael & All Angels Church from 1999 to 2001, this double CD set contains a handful of extremely talented musicians and a big bunch of enjoyable moments, even from artists I had the pleasure of listening for the first time. Such is the case with vocalist Fabienne Audeoud, whose opening “J’allume la lumiere?” mixes opera, theatre and a little Diamanda Galas with great intensity. Then you find crystal-clear concepts and fully realized schemes, especially when hearing the powerful notes of Alan Tomlinson on trombone or the typically bare-stripped string plucking of guitarist John Russell. Keyboard wizard Veryan Weston uses church organ to describe something that’s finished but still alive in its spirit; instead, the duos of Oren Marshall/Mark Sanders (tuba and percussion) and Steve Beresford/Roger Turner (electronics and percussion) share a sort of desire for finding something unexpected, but at the same time known to be hiding after a corner. While Aleks Kolkowski’s stroh violin demonstrates how to make great music with the minimum of means, John Butcher and Matt Hutchinson (saxes, synth, electronics) just blow your senses off with a magnificent meshing of electroacoustic colours. But the two highest moments of this compilation come one after another, on disc 2: Eddie Prevost’s splendid “On the point of a needle” is a 19-minute long percussive documentary, taking snapshots of post-industrial urban areas and mixing them with delicate meditations reminding me of people forced out of their own place; “Hommage” by Simon Vincent is stunning in its beauty, a wonderful representation of that deep sorrow that we’d like to cancel from our life once and for all, but never manage to…then we observe it near – and know it’s necessary to fight on.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Sampling rage (Editions RZ)
Five artists involved in this much appreciated CD, based on electronics, sampling and concrete/found sounds. The wonderful beginning by Steve Roden – “Heizlüfter” – is a piece made with a parabolic heater humming, sampled and treated in a perfect soundscape more similar to a prayer than to music. Terre Thaemlitz shows us the livelier sections, giving maximum importance to sound details that usually go unnoticed or avoided because thought useless; his two tracks – “Couture Cosmetique” and “Facilitator” are maybe the record’s best in terms of construction. Brandon LaBelle’s “Peregrination & Surplus” could be instead the less enjoyable composition – but only from a beginner’s point of view, since an initiated ear will find it absolutely fascinating thanks to its well affirmed consistency . The six minutes by Boris D.Hegenbart are exquisite and his use of sampled japanese adolescent vocals brings his “Disturbstone” to the highest levels. An interesting final improvisation by Christophe Carles, LaBelle and Roden is a worthy ending to an absolutely engaging listen.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – China: the sonic avant-garde (Post-Concrete)
A lot of interesting artists, gathered in a double CD produced by Dajuin Yao, take a crack to entering the avantgarde elite through an extremely varied sound palette: from field recordings to extreme computer noise, going through apparent silence to random spectral presences, quite often with pretty satisfying outcomes. Getting down to brass tacks, the good feeling here lies in not knowing what to expect from a group of unknown entities: most names involved reveal themselves as masterful sound-sculptors, using all the means at their disposal to raise heaven or hell, depending on the context. A few ones do sound like amateurs, that’s not to say their intentions are not good, but there’s a pronounced discrepancy among the top and the bottom of the list. That said, these are my “awards”: Zhang Jüngang “X-rate”, maybe my favorite track of the whole set – a splendidly enchanting, faraway crepuscular light; then, Fu Yü with his captivating “Fish cooking” translucid segments. Also, the nice plunderphonic-like work of Hu Mage in “Edit 2″, a track called “Mail works M4″ by Ismu – and, finally, the excellent Wang Changcun, whose “Lunch life” surrealistic looping and the priceless amalgam of “Song without words” are the best working soundscapes mixed with the bells coming from a near little town and the cuckoos chatting when I opened my window during listening. Some limpid beauty, yes.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – E*A*D*G*B*E (12k)
For those who don’t play, the title represents guitar’s standard tuning from bass to treble strings. Guitar sounds are manipulated through software and processing all over this extremely beautiful and almost dreamy release, bringing out a kind of music which – though absolutely accessible – allows several interesting views on how an instrumental voice can be modified until it becomes barely recognizable in some instance. Japanese duo Fonica open the dances with two shimmering pieces where static textural chords and gentle harmonic are kept in hold by a concise and mature use of the color palette; their work is very introspective and much appreciated by this writer. Keith Fullerton Whitman uses a little more dynamics: his bomb-like glissandos mixed with arpeggios bathing in frequency modification, strange resonances and fragmentation of nightmares confirm him as one of the most interesting names of this particular area of “sculpting”. Sebastien Roux presents three wonderful pieces where simple gestures and a few well placed touches are moved by a glitching/popping computer pulse and, in general, their shadowy drone-based character is maybe the most emotional part of the whole CD. The recording is closed by a mini-suite plus an additional track by multimedia artist Christopher Willits, where harmonic shifting and repetitive patterns are sometimes extremely near to Reichian (simpler) territories, think “Electric Counterpoint”. But, his music is so light-hearted and lyrical I couldn’t help putting a big affirmative smile on my face during this enchanting short walk. All in all, this is a highly skilled presentation of new guitar music, pretty often bordering on total excellence.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – On paper (Cronica)
I’ll leave the conceptual explanation of this double CD to its liner notes; suffice for me to say, this is mostly obscure concrete/electronic/pulse music presented by Portuguese artists with some “famous” guest, like Pure and Stephan Mathieu, whose highly personal sound is almost instantly recognizable in a group of pieces tending to suburban hollowness and experimental practices. No easy task getting the goodies at first listen – better still, I suggest listening to “On paper” through headphones to catch all the subtleties and the different interesting artistic personalities, of which there’s certainly no shortage here. While Longina’s “On voice”, with its incessant beat, is maybe the most capturing track, I’d say I choose my “preferred ones” in the pair of @c and b.Z_ToneR, whose use of space and sense of “waiting-for-an-accident-to-happen” gives something to fix with our own ears.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Audiolab (Lucky Kitchen)
Commissioned by the Caisse des Depots of Paris, this double CD is a pleasant introduction to the sound world of several multimedia artists, some less known than others by your reviewer. Each one of the tracks could stand alone as a sound installation – or “ambient” texture, if you will – but if you try to listen with analytical intent, you’re in for a few surprises. Monolake creates a wonderful droney vibe with everyday home noises; Laetitia Benat evokes forgotten memories and blows on brain dust in a very beautiful piece. Danish Henrik Jakobsen takes church organ notes making a subterranean monstrous creature of them, while German AGF reaches maybe the highest point of the whole set with her mixture of digital treatments, voice and fragments of environment. Curd Duca’s track is extremely well conceived and guarantees almost 11 minutes of “soft nightmare”. Among the others: Steve Roden, Alejandra & Aeron, the lively Dorine Muraille. Except for a very few moments, “Audiolab” is really a very engaging and interesting listen.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Kraakgeluiden-Document 1 (Unsounds)
There are records that just defy any description, such are their variety and multi-faceted sound: this is one of them. “Kraakgeluiden” is completely based on live improvisations recorded in various combinations of a lot of musicians playing squats (please read the notes for further explanation), generally experimenting a lot and having a sincere good time. Among the names involved : Cor Fuhler, Dirk Bruinsma, Andy Moor, Geert-Jan Prins, Joe Williamson and many more. The music quality is impressively high, given the less-than-technically-perfect circumstances of these gigs; from laptop to violin and clarinet, from repeated warblings to allucinated drum machines, from almost silent moments to the final cacophony of the “Corkestra”, there’s something for everyone here, all the while smelling a freedom and a sense of humor too often absent in the avant/improvisation sector.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Two point two (12k)
Double CD showcasing the best artists in the 12k and Line roster, appealing to the collector (all tracks are previously unreleased) and to the ones not familiar with these labels (one disc each); it’s a perfect introduction to digital minimalism and post-modern ambient. The 12k record has its best moments with Kenneth Kirschner, whose “June 8, 2003″ is wonderfully detached from the rest of the world in a slowly moving icy piece full of hidden emotion. Also to be mentioned are Sebastian Roux and Ghislain Poirier, talented composers of pretty static yet meaningful soundscapes; I also loved Komet’s “Looping 4=D” – nothing particularly new but certainly well assembled – and the already well known Doron Sadja (here with Motion in “3small”) whose electro-sculpting is noteworthy. Talking about the Line CD, pure beauty comes from “For Thomas Wilfred (N°3)” by Steve Roden, a highly spiritual evocation, and “Uhliko” by Skoltz_Kolgen, perfect melange of shadows and faint buzzing night lights in a suburban setting – alas, too short for its value. I won’t bother underlining the extraordinary class of Richard Chartier (“Archival 1992″) and William Basinski (“Worry”) because you all know we’re talking about masters of the game.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – A classic guide to No Man’s Land – Pieces and Songs (No Man’s Land)
This is a very useful, nice second edition of the “Classic guide ” (first out in 1988) once again showing the delightful variety of this label’s catalog. From free improv to fake world music, from post-Canterbury to famous artists’ solo vignettes, there’s one for all here. The “Pieces” CD is opened by a funny track by David Weinstein paving the way for successive settings and recordings: most interesting are Guy Klucevsek (here on piano) in “Glow/Hearth” with Wayne Horvitz, Paul Taub and Bill Frisell; the Lytle/Dresser/Hemingway trio, caught in a “special moment” of a live set; a Zappa-influenced Motor Totemist Guild track called “Jump Cut”; above all, the gorgeous “Sheepsong” by Armchair Traveller. The “Songs” disc adds more oddities, such as Viv Corringham and Peter Cusack’s greek song, a “soft-core” Vanderian track by Tatsuya Yoshida, the absolutely adverse to classification Non Credo, the beautiful electronics-cum-dissonant singing by Frank Schulte and Anna Homler, the lively rendition of Eisler by Michael Gross…But the record’s pearl remains David Garland’s lovely “On the other side of the window”: this man just lives in a world of his own, as showed by his incredibly genial song collections.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Dielectric Vol.1 (Dielectric)
Nice to report about a new acquaintance: my very first contact with this Oakland based label is this lively disc, consisting of a mix of existing and unreleased material by the artists recording for Dielectric. Putting a sticker on this stuff is not easy, though; I was influenced by what I heard and found myself thinking to names such as RRR records, Esplendor Geometrico, Muslimgauze, De Fabriek and a few others I won’t name to avoid confusion…There are fractured distortions of digital rhythms by Sote/Virgox, AKA Ata Ebtekar and Safar Bake; excellent crunchy masses of noise also come from Die Elektrischen, AKA Drew Webster (label’s co-founder by the way, the second half being his wife). A beautiful melodic techno is presented by the deservedly hyped Carson Day, while aside the rest stands Karen Stackpole who – helped by Ann Dentel – shows hundreds of colors and tricks with a percussion arsenal and cello; Stackpole’s pieces – in some instance beautifully manipulated and transformed by Drew Webster’s electronics – are strikingly different from the preceding material, making “Dielectric Vol.1″ even more variegated and appealing.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Labor CD (Charhizma)
Berlin’s Kule arthouse has been the meeting point of a group of multimedia artists involved – in various ways and settings – in a project called “Labor Sonor”. This interesting release brings an audio CD plus a CD-rom with interviews, video art and performances that are complementary to the music presented, speaking of which at least four moments need to be remembered. The duo of Kai Fagaschinski and Michael Thieke, whose clarinets are so entwined that you just hear them as a single undulating, shifting timbre. Nom (Merle Ehlers, Dave Bennett and Antoine Chessex) radically alter drums, guitar and sax sounds, emerging with an undescribable stew of cheap and efficient acousmatics. Alessandro Bosetti’s refusal of play any conventional way on his soprano sax means a delightful showing of percussive, airy, palatal and god-knows-what explorations of instrumental cavities. Andrea Ermke’s “Fish in a box” is creative, concise, in a word intelligent sampling – a feature not easy to acquire today. Also noteworthy are the Phosphor Group’s initial “Ohne titel” and Sabine Ercklentz’s excellent trumpet and computer “Solo” piece. All in all, a nice presentation of an ebullient scene and a compilation of captivating music (…except for a single, horrible track, but I won’t ruin any pleasure telling who’s the assassin!)
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Pylons and telegraph poles (Evelyn)
This compilation of English subterranean artists is a pretty good demonstration of what’s possible with few means in the world of drones, far from the mystic atrocities known as “dark ambient” usually played by amateurs full of money to waste. In the nine tracks contained here the sound is quite rough, if not altogether dirty – a touch of distortion sometimes can add value to a piece, making it more effective to the brain of the receiver. That said, everyone involved got his own perfect spot and everything seems to sound right like it should be; the overall smell is quite near to old post-industrial school, something here and there may have been experienced in the past thanks to Cranioclast or Zoviet France – but this is not a reunion of copycats and names like Nixxos Lexos, Karina ESP, Amberlight and Culver stand well clear off any commonplace in this area.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Pisa 1980 improvisors symposium (Psi)
A double CD full of interesting combinations among the very elite of improvising artists, captured live in Italy a long time ago. The George Lewis/Maarten Altena/Paul Lovens trio moves in a mysterious way, trying to individuate a spiritual essence while exchanging short messages; Derek Bailey and Altena often jab and hook, contrastating each other’s predominance yet sounding quite coherent together. The initial Evan Parker/Lewis duos of sax and trombone are masterful timbral excursions to the highest synthesis of innocence and aural architecture, up where instruments are led to the point of major perfection by some obscure soul force. The two quintets corroborating the whole second disc have Barry Guy’s double bass as a common denominator; with him, Paul Lytton, Philipp Wachsmann, Lovens and Parker throw some belligerant line in the air, not worried at all about aestethical rules but looking out for the real world. On the other hand Guy and Altena dialogue more intensively with Lewis, Paul Rutherford and Giancarlo Schiaffini in a 3+2 trombone/bass combination that represents one of the most chance-taking section in this extremely serious release. There’s still a big difference between jazzy fancy dressers and intrepid navigators of difficult seas.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Overland (Naturestrip)
Four artists involved in working with field recordings were asked to submit pieces for this compilation. Toshiya Tsunoda opens the disc with a gorgeous urban landscape where motors, radio, natural elements and a light touch of electronic hiss fuse beautifully in a relaxing, caressing track, the highlight being a jet flying upon a background of crickets. Joel Stern makes great work of soda bottles, binaural mikes and damaged reproduction means in an electroacoustic small gem that would make many academists pretty envious; all is based on watery sounds and their altering process. Tarab (Eamon Sprod) is maybe the creator of the most “mysterious” product, an almost menacing mixture of rumble, buzz, interferences, electrostatics and air-in-a-tube sounds: the assembling quality and the perfect placing of the single elements in the listening panorama is nothing short of masterful. Lawrence English is the last featured soundscaper and he brings us back to the field recording area with a work that’s nearer to concrete music than the others; voices, traffic, TV sets, maybe trains?, all slightly treated with effects to yield a satisfying aural document of various realities in their very essence. Overall, a beautiful presentation from a label truly worthy of being followed with maximum attention.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2001/Small groups (Emanem) – VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2001/Large groups (Emanem)
For those who don’t know, “Freedom of the city” is one of the most important (maybe THE most important) new music festivals in London, presenting – in the space of a few days – concerts by different combinations of active improvisers from the old and the new school. An excellent double Cd set captures the “small-group” program of the festival, about 2 1/2 hours of the best instrumentalists of radical/free pedigree; want some name? Ian Smith, Veryan Weston, Maggie Nicols, Phil Durrant, Steve Beresford, Lol Coxhill, Paul Rutherford, Caroline Kraabel, Phil Minton, but there are many many more: all serious, old-fashioned “freedom dreamers”. And freedom is the feeling you get when listening to this, with a honourable mention to the gorgeous Smith/Brand/Marshall trio opening the record and the very interesting redesigned string quartet including Phil Durrant, Charlotte Hug, Mark Wastell and Tony Wren. “Large groups”, in this case, means two entities: Strings with and without Evan Parker (look for their great 3-CD set on the same label) and the London Improvisers Orchestra. Like the above companion, this record contains great material; I won’t repeat all the names involved, also because there are even more in this one; just listen to the magic of the “Strings”, in their percussive drops and ensemble weavings, or enjoy the non-stop circling of Parker through a couple of lungs that are superhuman – but the best track here has to be Simon H. Fell’s “Morton’s mobile”, a beautiful piece of work according to any standard. These two records could be a perfect introduction to Emanem, but I think it’s much better visiting their website and having a noteblock near you before going into a frenzy!
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2002, small groups (Emanem)
This is an absolutely fantastic compilation, a double CD made of electrifying music, intuitive geniuses and raw feeling wherever you decide to focalize your attention. Top of the mountain belongs without a doubt to Sylvia Hallett: her magnificent solo set, consisting of voice intertwining to violin, sarangi and bycicle wheel, is an invocation to unknown spirits capable of moving the very depth of my soul. Delicate, minimal and austere, Sylvia works her way to the highest highs of emotion and never looks back, scoring a wonderful result that won’t be forgotten. Trevor Watts and Veryan Weston exchange ideas and suggestions without taking a minute of relief, creating on the spot what amounts to an excellent instant composition. Sax and piano speak to each other without interference and constantly on the limit between technique and heart. Also there travel the trio made of Lol Coxhill, Paul Rutherford and Ian Smith, generators of a pleasing improvisation in which any voice contributes to a series of lively messages, decoded without any trouble. Each one keeps his own strong personality but the overall mix results in a group’s expressive style. The second CD is opened by Roger Smith, the “purest” guitarist around – he almost never plays live but when he does, he keeps us pleased with delicate, gentle chordal gesturing and (just) apparently simple solo lines. Chris Burn and Matt Hutchinson represent the most introspective area here, their obscure exchange molded with electronics and gasping blows: very intelligent music, striving to remain floating while a muddy river is trying to drag it down. The final belongs to Evan Parker and John Russell, who confront themselves blow by blow, Evan with his usual astounding spiralling phrasing hovering all around the place, John treating strings like they are a mix of angelic harps and whips for a nice torture. Never a double CD has shown such a high degree of consistency like this one.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2003, small groups (Emanem)
The two discs contain four improvisations apiece. The trio of Alan Tomlinson, Steve Beresford and Roger Turner travels towards virgin territories where trombone, electronics and percussion lose their unique identity fusing into an acid deranged firecracker of joyous absurdity, with almost no time for reflection. Stephan Keune and John Russell, on sopranino sax and guitar, continue to surprise and amaze with a series of engaging bird-like discourses leaving no doubt on their high-virtuosity immersion in fresh waters of fun. Pure excellence transpires from the Viv Corringham/Angharad Davies duo; violin and voice become one in a piece that’s challenging and disturbing at the same time, very nerve-touching and beautiful. Large doses of powerful interplay come from Free Base (Alan Wilkinson, Marcio Mattos, Steve Noble); their track is the nearest one to the commonly used concept of “improvisation” between jazz-influenced musicians, literally exploding with positive energies. The second CD opens with the most abstract playing of the whole set: Milo Fine, Hugh Davies, Paul Shearsmith and Tony Wren run amock between spontaneous eruptions and subdued shades of pinpoint elucubrations, embracing lots of definitions but endorsing none. Saxophone and double bass duos can’t get better than John Butcher and John Edwards’, especially when they explore the realms of droning resonance and dark-alley polyphony while knotting fingers and tongue in complex marvellous new languages; in that sense their “Spokes” could be the top of this selection. But if you need a mix of silent musical gestures and almost immobile vibration around well chosen plucks of harp and cello strings – PLUS an intramolecular double bass breaching of conventions, look no further than the trio of Rhodri Davies, Mark Wastell and Simon H.Fell: their intensity is directly proportional to the lots of spaces they vacuum-clean of any regular timbre. Lunge (Gail Brand, Phil Durrant, Mark Sanders and Pat Thomas) put the final word on these gorgeous recordings, climbing up the hills where the rarefied air of acoustic instruments (trombone and percussion) is easier to be savored when spiced with smart use of keyboards and laptop running scared from repetition and cliches. That said, I’m left gasping for air at the end of this unbelievable gathering of great independent artists.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2004, small groups (Emanem)
A fabulous quintet opens the first disc: power and delicacy, finesse and attitude are splendidly showed by John Russell on his abrasively detailed guitar; Georg Wolf (double bass) and Philipp Wachsmann (violin, electronics) depict their ambitious consistence while paving the way for the multiform proteic playing of Stefan Keune on sopranino sax. Phil Minton’s gurgles and squeals are more restrained than usual, but not less enjoyable in their inventiveness. In “Titled improvisation (1-3)”, more than “playing notes” Paul Rutherford “carves silence”: the sapient fluctuations of Paul’s lines are a precise reminder of what an improvisation should be in terms of new forms and self analysis, confirming his fundamental role in these contexts. No wonder that both Clive Bell and Sylvia Hallett have been featured on some of Emanem’s most beautiful records: their arsenal of exotic flutes, self built instruments and digital delay yields atonal hypnotic loops, spurious vibrations and cathedrals of suspended soundfields. Bell and Hallett’s imagination reflects its decomposed shimmer over a four-piece span, delivering from tension while directing everyone’s energy towards a circular path. The most peculiar group in this set opens the second CD with two mysterious tracks, full of ubiquitous figures and increasing nervousness; Chris Burn (piano, percussion) Will Guthrie (amplified percussion) and Matt Hutchinson (synth, electronics) sound like a giant throat emitting broken harmonics and splinters of shapes; instead, John Butcher (saxes), Clare Cooper (guzheng) and Jim Denley (flute, sax, voice) use that cavity to hover all around the place in their specialist approach to the ramifications of unknown instrumental gestures. The Gail Brand/Morgan Guberman duo is one of proven greatness and the two long improvisations contained here are a magnification of idealistic freedom as opposed to corporative noodling; Gail and Morgan morph their trombone and voice in continuous unbelievable collages of challenging dexterities. Roger Smith (guitar) and Louis Moholo-Moholo (drums, musical doll) close the show with a juxtaposition of juggling rolls, fractal tempos, perverted arpeggios and caustic chords: their very first meeting represents the line of continuity among improvising artists devoted to the cancellation of genre boundaries in an ongoing effort to maintain purity of expression.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2005 (Emanem)
Due to lack of funds, the 2005 edition of the FOTC festival was reduced to a single-day event, whose testament is this double CD shining with beauty coming from everywhere. Insurrectional quarrels seem to spring out of the first trio, with John Edwards on double bass and Mark Sanders on percussion tumbling over inflammable balloons propelled by Paul Rutherford’s trombone, up to those skies where maimed poetry and unhinibited melodicism gleam all day long. Sylvia Hallett, Caroline Kraabel and Veryan Weston (violin, alto sax and piano plus their voices) suffocate joy in a repartition of nostalgic surprises, their grainy atmospheres similar to the dust covering an ancient gramophone trying to play the only melted vinyl that it wants to accept, with the result of evoking sleeping gnomes from the attic. Underlining Kjell Bjorgeengen’s videos, the electronically treated violin of Philipp Wachsmann weaves the concrete illusions and oblique fantasies of a kid practicing his grip on a future that’s not going to be made of symphonies and quartets, rather of birdwatching and progressive isolation. London Improvisers Orchestra – a 30-piece supergroup this time – follows theoretical dreams of non-conformity: led by Simon H.Fell, it muddies Pendereckian lamentations with percussive clattering and apparent contrary motions; under the guide of Caroline Kraabel, a stop-and-go game of micro-counterpoint is put into action for an all-too-brief enjoyment; finally, Dave Tucker’s “The dynamix” reminded me of those fantastic East-European cartoons where every character’s personality is highlighted by an instrument or a combination amidst continuous changes of perspective. Only Steve Beresford, Joe Williamson and Roger Turner try to drive their musicianship around jazz: their piano/bass/drums trio sounds like frying popcorn in a room that visitors always forget to visit, yet they finish their performance with a serious spurt of gorgeous free music. Flute and soprano sax (Neil Metcalfe and Lol Coxhill in a two-movement utopian conversation) are the sole protagonists in a sunny world where good ideas not only have the right to exist, but also find their place in the mind of the ruling ones. Finally, Phil Durrant’s laptop’s shrieks and purrs carve their niche in the middle of furious exchanges between the saxophones of Alan Wilkinson – in torrential post-Archie Shepp eruptive power – and, again, the great Mark Sanders in a frenzy of communicative emotion. A fit conclusion for this indispensable set.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Freedom of the city 2006 (Emanem)
For its 2006 edition, the “Freedom of the city” compilation presents two quartets and a trio featuring several less-known-than-usual artists, who nevertheless demonstrate that they belong in that tree of improvisation where succulent fruits of instrumental fantasy fall off the branches in every season. In “Chàchara”, the trio of Chefa Alonso (soprano sax), David Leahy (double bass) and Javier Carmona (drum set & percussion) build important structures by alternating furious blowouts and more reflective, almost poised analyses of the quieter sides of dynamics, either respecting their joyful will to feel delivered by the very essence of sound, or calling silence to testimony about their sensitive intuitions. “Okgnig I” presents a quartet from Brussels: Jean-Michel Von Schouwburg (voice), Adelheid Sieuw (flutes, voice), Jan Huib Nas (guitar) and Guy Strale (clarinet, piano, percussion), the latter a true pioneer of free music in Belgium. The dialogue between Van Schouwburg’s hysterical utterances and Sieuw’s agitated flute and post-lyrical broken up vocalism is finely complemented by Strale’s attentive percussive commitment, the “real” timbre of Nas’ guitar heard just every once in a while amidst lots of bumps, scratches and swashes. A few sections of this piece possess a dramatic theatrical aura – especially perceivable when Strale’s piano enters the scene towards the end – that distances it from more characteristic settings heard in similar contexts. The only “famous” names belong to the second and final quartet, with Garry Todd (tenor sax), Nigel Coombes (violin), Nick Stephens (double bass) and Tony Marsh (drum set). “Stipple” begins like a drunken combo trying to find the way out of a pub, Todd and Coombes exchanging sliding lines and sliced stems while Stephens and Marsh look for a keyword to regroup the whole into coherence. They succeed without straining our auricular muscle, their timbral entities proclaiming a state of total independence from orchestral statism in a scribbled manifestation of technical nobility, their knotty dissertations portraying a ravishing creature dressed in rags.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Rural psychogeography (Nexsound)
This compilation is a perfect introduction to the Ukrainian label, its target being to present the cream of concrete/field recording-based artistry available today. One can instantly acknowledge the notable sound quality while enjoying long moments of food for the ears: from the wonderful binaural recordings by Geoff Dugan opening the CD, the listener just has to shuffle through the disc to seize priceless beauties such as Rosy Parlane’s “Nica” – pure rainbows of luscious high frequencies – or the subsequent masterpiece by Steinbrüchel, “Distanz”. Sorting out names in such a context is not easy but something must also be told about the treated wind used by Anla Courtis – and I don’t want to forget what maybe is the most emotional moment of the whole set, namely The Moglass’ “Koktebel”: probably such a piece defines what lost souls feel while waiting for something that will never be revealed to them. Most of the musicians involved in “Rural psychogeography” are masters of their game, therefore this sampler’s level is one of the highest I’ve met in years: indeed, not an easy result to achieve.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Domizil v Antifrost live (Domizil)
As the self explanatory title reveals, this is a compilation of the best moments from the 2003 tour by artists of the mentioned labels, recorded by Jason Kahn. The first disc presents the “solo” settings and is characterized by the alternance of electrostatics and hypnotics; the more “noisy” performances come from Ilios and Bernd Schurer, whose two tracks stimulate the membranes moving the molecules with ear-piercing methods. On the other hand, Kahn himself, Marcus Maeder, Coti K and above all Steinbrüchel prefer having us sleep with an open eye, as their frequency manipulation literally throws in uncommon stupors. The second, much shorter disc contains five splendid duos between different combinations of the same names; among the infinite rays of sine tones and granular textures I experienced on my own skin, I can’t help but nominate the opening moments of the Ilios/Steinbrüchel piece as the emotional top of the whole release: a track which no words can express the deep beauty and moving intensity of.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Free Zone Appleby 2002 (Psi)
The musicians involved, first: John Edwards, Sylvia Hallett, Marcio Mattos, Neil Metcalfe, Evan Parker, John Rangecroft, Mark Sanders, Philipp Wachsmann. This double compact disc is just another example of how high the standard of English new music is right now. More than 152 minutes of passionate playing, an almost unreal love for sound and for fellow players, explorations of new (and reworking of old) ideas, technical excellence over any comparison and a general sense of belonging that currently I can’t detect anywhere else. The first disc is characterized by a more “difficult” approach, like if all musicians were trying to open some new paths in an already rocky course. A good representation of this is “Ferber string quartet”, where Edwards, Hallett, Mattos and Wachsmann play like they’re possessed by a supernatural entity, their collective effort directed to still undiscovered sources of new energy. “Whitethroat” finds Hallett in not-so-usual harsher territories; her ability to raise hellish dissonances armed only with her strings and voice is almost disturbing. The second disc could sound more aesthetically “beautiful” to regular ears; what’s certain is that the overall value is absolutely equal to the previous one, even if there are parts that could appeal your “chamber collective ecstasy” need a little more. There you have – as an example – the splendid duo of Neil Metcalfe on flute and Philipp Wachsmann on violin: their gorgeous “Sense” could be one of the reasons to buy this set. No cathegorizations or technical analyses here, this is music as rewarding as you can get. The final “Morsman Octet”, where all the musicians give a final salute in a sparkling form of incandescent timbral argument, is just the perfect signature in this extremely important manifestation of artistic culture – yes, another treasure from Parker and Davidson.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Free Zone Appleby 2003 (Psi)
Except for the flugelhorn/sax duo by Evan Parker and Kenny Wheeler, the Alan Hacker/Tony Coe clarinet pair and the unique quintet playing the extraordinary “W4/JE”, the music contained here is essentially a series of lively improvisations by a core quartet (John Edwards, Sylvia Hallett, Marcio Mattos and Philipp Wachsmann) often augmented by one of the above mentioned musicians. As you can see, we’re amidst the cream of English creative artistry; hundreds of lines and runs interlocking themselves, like if Anton Webern and his clone decided to write new postmodern charts asking help from the very capabilities of eight geniuses. The interplay always borders on the amazing, making everything sound like those scores effectively exist; even the quietest moments are full of background ebulliency – life springing out of stones, too. On top of all this, a concrete sense of dedicated fun appears throughout, making one wonder how in the world many people still consider free music as a kind of strange food for introverted eggheads. Make no mistake about it: this IS difficult stuff, but it’s also some of the most exciting playing you can hear these days. Just listen to the tracks 10 and 12 (basic quartet plus Wheeler/plus Coe) then tell me again you’re not touched.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Free Zone Appleby 2004 (Psi)
A total gratification is assured by listening to these five forward-thinking musicians, recorded at the 2004 Appleby Festival in various combinations of duo and trio, as the music they produce is intransigent, sense-reviving, footlose, always surprising in all its forms. The Evan Parker/Barry Guy/Philipp Wachsmann trio is fiery and spectacular like an otherworldy sabre dance where soprano sax, bass and violin take turns in splintering every anticipation; Paul Lytton’s percussives become a shapeless creature when his gestural morphology gets radically altered by Joel Ryan’s magnificent live processing, which also transforms Wachsmann and Parker’s timbral characters in pseudo-minimalist monstrosities highlighted by singular multitudes of ever-chatting insects during the respective duo settings. The concluding trio (Guy, Lytton, Wachsmann) dissolves any existing idea of “pattern”, nervously recapitulating the guidelines of dynamic improvisation in a succession of acoustic dissolutions which made me think about a revolutionary orchestra where the conductor has been kicked out of the building after the first rehearsal.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Free Zone Appleby 2005 (Psi)
Once again, the Free Zone Appleby CD contains a lot of great music to be savoured time and again with pleasure and, at times, enthusiasm. The 2005 edition features nine musicians in various combinations, each one with a distinct approach to that difficult matter which is improvisation based on well evident jazz roots. The first trio sees Kenny Wheeler, Paul Rogers and Tony Levin in an emotional voyage through the realms of serene linear elucubration enhanced by large doses of deeply spiritual investigation, with a gorgeous solo by Rogers lighting up the scene midway through the piece. The quartet with Evan Parker, Gerd Dudek, John Edwards and Levin is a classic case of disciplined anarchy, with the four artists exchanging views about their heartfelt gratitude to their influences in an intensity crescendo. The trio of Dudek, Edwards and Tony Marsh on drums is probably the most lyrical agglomerate of the whole album, impromptu themes and elegant interplay at work in elongated periods of – dare I say – sensual phrasing and galvanizing drive. My favourite selection is another trio, namely Philipp Wachsmann, Paul Dunmall and – again – Levin, who are the ones that best represent the extreme synthesis of that deep musical knowledge that Emanem and Psi have been documenting for many years; Dunmall’s clairvoyant lines and Wachsmann’s dramatic twists, springing out of his electronically treated violin, are beautifully interdependent in their wholly different constitution, which gives the music an almost presentimental quality. The final nonet – involving all components – alternates chamber-like sections, where silence is slightly perturbed either by whispering and moaning phenomena or by discreet contrapuntal conversations among the participants, to blowout eruptions that nevertheless maintain a detailed architecture which the ears salute as a recognition code in a complex scheme of beautifully organized, skilfully deployed sonic events.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Free Zone Appleby 2006 (Psi)
As regular as the season cycle, the Free Zone Appleby 2006 CD comes to present us with almost 80 minutes of advanced improvisation, this time by seven luminous instrumentalists (Philipp Wachsmann, Rudi Mahall, Aki Takase, Alexander Von Schlippenbach, Evan Parker, Paul Rutherford – RIP – and Paul Lovens) in ten tracks showing various combinations of the above mentioned names from duo to quartet. There seems to be a special chemistry in this year’s edition, characterized by a sense of coherence that doesn’t evidence huge gaps among the sonorities of the mixed coalitions. More than just collecting separate improvisations, the album sounds in fact like a single composition where pinpointed sections highlight the typical features of each participant’s artistic personality. This defines once and for all the concept according to which serious improvisers are recognizable after a couple of notes even when inserted in wholly different contexts while nonentities get lost in indifference, a lone honk in an inextricable traffic jam. There are indeed moments that should not be forgotten, like “Favourite fruit trio 3”, Takase’s piano at times reminding of early XX century movies with Parker serenely seaming quasi-cantabile melodies and sudden flirtations with lawlessness over Lovens’ sensitive choice of percussive colours from his drum set. The initial “Favourite fruit trio 1” (Parker again plus Wachsmann and Schlippenbach) begins with obscure resonant thuds and a respectful dialogue between the soprano sax and the violin, remaining confined in a splendid dark-romantic halo that’s testimony of the musicians’ keen ear and historical background. Rudi Mahall’s bass clarinet and Philipp Wachsmann’s violin cultivate unrepentant beauty in “Favourite fruit duo 2”. Curiously, the noisiest track is the Takase vs Schlippenbach piano match, which closes the disc with comfortless timbres and grinding rhythms mixed with high-register titillations. We can’t find a piece classifiable as under average, the playing is astounding throughout, the contributors deserving praise for their immense depth. The latter concept becomes even more touching as we enjoy the still lively, ever imaginative style of the late, great Paul Rutherford, the ideal signature on a life of questions, many of them answered through the sheer intelligence of his articulate trombone confidences.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Edition XV (Edition)
Serious people all around in more than 71 minutes of sound exploitation. If you’re into seismic measuring of a nuclear test translated into frequencies, you’ll find one long track of it; fans of computer data changing to electrostatics, there’s something for you, too – by Jliat. On the electroacoustic side of the matter, Toy Bizarre and Hazard score major points with their impressive contributions. While I’m not sure to have understood the sense (and the intended sonic differences) of an exquisite short experiment by Jio Shimizu, my “best of” awards winners are – ex aequo – Colin Potter, with an all-treated-vocal-simil-mantra called “This country” and Monos – do they ever miss a beat? – whose “Glacier” is quite contrasting both with the general atmosphere of this compilation and their “regular” kind of production.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – No Idea festival (Coincident / Spring Garden Music / Ten pounds to the sound)
A network of beautiful improvisers – here captured live in Austin and Houston during the self-organized No Idea festival – is developing thanks to the efforts of small labels like the above ones, which I strongly recommend you to contact directly to get more info about this and other releases, likely to become serious challenges for the ones willing to listen attentively. Various combinations of instrumental voices and personalities bring the music level to high standards throughout the Austin CD, where brilliant interchanges and intelligent backlashes of good-humour belligerency are in abundance: the 71+ minutes fly without a problem and we just wonder why such an excellence must be kept secret by the music establishments’ ignorant deafness. The names are many and all deserve mention but please take a moment to appreciate the stringent logic of Matt Ingalls’ clarinet inventiveness and the creamy grunting of trombone players Dave Dove and Tucker Dulin. The Houston disc shows a somehow more restrained aspect of this collective, even if a track like “Strand party” – distinguished by Sabine Vogel’s flute inoculations and Linda Gale Aubry and Maria Chavez’ electronics/sampling and turntable, plus Bryan Eubanks (sax, tape) and Chris Cogburn (percussion) – is a melange of guerilla warfare and quiet perpendicularity of sonic elements, maybe the “poster boy” piece for this gathering of knife-edge artists who want to create new spaces and confrontations against the prevalence of takeaway products.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Voices in the wilderness: dissenting soundscapes and songs of G.W.’s America (Pax Recordings)
If there are people still believing in democracy, this dizzying series of post-its by the cream of West Coast’s radical music should help waking them up. “Voices in the wilderness” is a fundamental document of raging creativity, 33 short pieces ranging from acoustic exhalations of lyrical pungency to phantom electronic voices talking about killing machines and undestroyable regimes, modern free jazz-cum-techno, politically uncorrect field recordings. All the involved artists lent their services with angry enthusiasm, laying down their best cards without bluffing for a second; among a bunch of excellent tracks, the distressing cries for help by mJane raise serious goosebumps and Dave Tucker’s “Take the word of a madman” is a splendidly progressive exaltation of compositional skill. I also liked Dina Emerson’s and Merlin Coleman’s totally different voice works – but no one surpasses the fervent bitterness of the wonderful Cornelius Cardew Choir, whose “Conceding before the countless dreams” is like ghosts from hundreds of wars taking the remaining dissenters by the hand and starting a prayer.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Anti-loss (Sqrt)
Polish label Sqrt, led by Lukasz Ciszak, gathered a small assembly of European sound artists (from Poland, Slovenia, Denmark, France and Spain) which created this short (17 minutes or so in a 3-inch CD) yet extremely brilliant electroacoustic snapshot. Two pieces which focus on nostalgia, shifting frequencies, looping hallucinations and intelligent bedlam; it all sounds like receiving a card from an unrecognizable seaside location where that sound of transistor radios and the salt on the skin change inexorably into noisy incinerators and decomposing bleached bones. It’s all over too early – these guys managed to fill a tiny space capsule with something truly exquisite and special in its own uniqueness.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Transient travels (Domizil)
Six artists, all involved in digital music composition, each one providing an idea for this project which was funded by Swiss Artists Council Pro Helvetia and World New Music Days 2004. The main concept is a “sonic journey” under the form of computerized treatments of concrete sounds (such in the case of Jasch’s “Probe”) or extremely chaotic signals during complex algorhythmic studies, just like the incredibly noisy pieces by Florian Hecker. In all their difference, every track presents several points of interest, being impulses and multicoloured discharges all part of an intensely shivering vibrational architecture which diversifies its branches through crepuscular subfrequencies and murmurs on the edge of aural perception. After a mention of the Christoph Heemann-like involving central section of Markus Maeder’s “Od kraja do kraja”, it is Ilios’ “Kandy 95″ that wins the contest for the most beautiful piece here: a suffocated, almost suffering breath of subliminal life that moves both the surrounding air and the environmental interiors of our brain activity.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Untitled songs (Sirr)
Subtitled “49 years from Gesang der Jünglinge (2005-1956)” this double CD represents a comprehensive view on today’s non-academic electroacoustic music, explicated through “songs” – which may or may not include vocal sound – by some of the most intelligent composers working from the outside into the very depths of our perceptive systems. All the conventional rules of sound placement get graciously massacred to let new spirits fly out of their ruins; we get pleasantly lost amidst the probabilities of sonic gibberish changing nature dramatically to become modified pellucid figures in a grey area of unsubstantial indelibility. It almost seems that the brain wants to disobey the ears, choosing to remain in a state of disoriented revolution while trying to decode the continuous quibbling coming from these charming configurations. The notes for every piece can be downloaded from the Sirr website; my personal preferences, if this makes some sense in such a pantheon of good artists, go to Andre Gonçalves, Jgrzinich, Heitor Alvelos and Marc Behrens on the first (and best) – disc, and to Dale Lloyd, Derek Holzer and James Eck Rippie on the second. But it’s the general level of the whole set that leans towards an undifferentiated excellence.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Knormalities v.3: Posthumorites (DKM)
Once upon a time, the “Recommended Records Quarterly” brought a lot of excellent music by fringe artists destined to become more or less known in the avant/radical territory; I felt the same genuine enthusiasm when playing this orange vinyl 7-inch containing four engaging tracks. The Ex open the dance with the dissonant “Giant”, followed by the emulsive geometries of Voodoo Muzak’s “Ibanen Dake”, maybe the record’s best piece. Side B joins a half-stoned, brilliant song by Cheer-Accident (“The stars”) with a This Heat cover, S.P.Q.R. by the clangorous Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. Everything sounds perfect to my ears; this could very well be an appetizer for a full-length CD around the same coordinates (can you hear me, people at DKM?)
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Essays on radio: can I have 2 minutes of your time? (Cronica)
The landscape drawn by 39 sound artists working around the radio theme – not necessarily with radio sounds, even if most tracks use them – is one of nebulous and functional extravagance; shortwaves and speech snippets but also electronic currents, concise statements and luminescent memories find their place in compositions of (maximum) 2 minutes length by a who’s who of contemporary sonic sculptors. Not surprisingly, the overall concept permeates the music with a peculiar brand of micro-organic continuity which acts like a glue among the tracks, so that the whole package (also including a DVD fusing images and sounds) constitutes a welcome essential document of modern art that gains weight and purpose with additional listenings. I know it’s absurd to single out names in such instances, but Christine Fowler’s “2 minutes” and Heitor Alvelos’ “Had a scanner been born on the Bosphorous” deserve a special mention for their alluring textural construction. Yet, this CD must absolutely be enjoyed as if coming from a single composer.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – DIY canons (Pogus)
Larry Polansky’s four voice canons are the inspiration behind this 2-CD set where composers from the most different areas apply their own discoveries to the concept of “mensuration canon”, meaning that successive voices move according to a tempo that’s proportional to their start time. All the selections herein represent a response to Polansky’s request for the submission of personal versions of such canons, hence the “DIY” title. In such an articulated ramification there are obvious discrepancies among the pieces, ranging from the perplexing joke to the pure sublime; yet there is a sense of total commitment to the project which transforms it in an important document by a group of inquisitive minds working in a suspended sector between sound and mathematics. To summarize the highs, Steven M.Miller’s “Twin canon” and “Pulse canon” show the perfect timbral opposition between similar principles, resulting in the hypnotic synthetic flows of “Twin” and a hell of FM drum beats springing out of a few initial hits in “Pulse”. “Canoni pitagorici” by Giuliano Lombardo sounds like Partch and Chowning entwined in a peculiar specimen, while “Freeze dried canon” by Mike Swinchoski somehow reminded me of Carl Stone’s most accessible fragments. A couple of really touching moments are Drew Krause’s piano in “Canon for LP” and George Zelenz’s “Thermohaline”, where John Whooley’s bass clarinet is finely superimposed in a stirring cycle of phrases. My own winner in the DIY canon contest is Mike Winter: although I’m left none the wiser – but seriously fascinated – after reading about his spectral filters, pixel axes and Gaussian functions, his three magnificent tracks (two with Philip Corner) conjure entities whose complexion, skeleton and life duration seem to depend exclusively by the uncommon light of the seemingly unreal harmonic relationships to which they obey.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Euskal interpretatzaile berriak 1 saila (Antifrost)
By reading the title it becomes obvious that this is a compilation of works by Basque sound artists raising a straightforward compositional guerilla against the commonplaces of “established” electroacoustic music. The record opens and ends with two “famous” names: Xabier Erkizia, his “Eskubete” a piercing attack to silence through minimal distorted frequencies, and Mattin, whose “Death to R’n'R” is a short punkish defragmentation of vinyl albums ending in a mess of white-noise saturation. But even more interesting are the tracks by Inigo Telletxea (“Untitled 1″) Tzesne (“Elementos acustizado”) and Edorta Izarzugaza (“Konpozizio objetiboa”), three soundscapes showing an alchemist-like will of intelligent investigation of aural memory, each one full of introspective textural dimensions, metastatic decompositions of shortwave abstract logic, hidden expansions like in a subdural hematoma. Here we can find the basics of what, in a not too distant future, could be labeled the “Basque school of individualist post-industrialism”…Just kidding folks – the music is so good, it speak for itself; give these guys a try and you won’t be disappointed.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Small melodies (Spekk)
“Small melodies” is one of the nicest compilations that I’ve heard recently, gathering fourteen artists mostly active in the minimal electronica area who were given instructions about sending music “with keywords like warm, tender and calm”. The result is a gentle album where many possibilities are explored by each composer with good synchronization between heart and technique, making the whole listening experience a pleasant exercise in relaxation. Given the coherence and the warming glow of most of these pieces, I really wouldn’t want to single out names; but there are several moments deserving a heartfelt applause, case in point being “Film” by Aen – found sounds, shortwaves and a gorgeous loop, the record’s atypical best. RDL’s “Finale” is another loop construction which penetrates the surface of thought effortlessly, while Hervé Boghossian’s “The latter” could melt the ice of nonchalance with its peculiar small universe of static counterpoint. Both Stephan Mathieu and Taylor Deupree dedicated their tiny fragments to sons, while Oren Ambarchi shows his Enoesque side in “Thirsty boots”. More delightful pureness comes from Sogar and Brendon Anderegg – but I stress that the true significance of this collection is best caught in its whole structure, made of intimate emotion and intelligence.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Epitaph for John (Korm Plastics)
“John” is John Watermann, a German/Australian artist whose soundworks had little (if none) diffusion during the 80s and 90s, yet constitute an uncompromising stance against the mass production of those years, remaining an influence for many artists who collaborated with him in the past. Watermann died in 2002 and now we have this fantastic tribute, in the form of eight compositions by the business class of acousmatic manipulators, people like Asmus Tietchens, Ralf Wehowsky, Reto Mäder, Merzbow and Frans De Waard/Freiband; all of them worked on pre-existing Watermann material to generate their pieces, which truly shine of respect for the man, reaching very high levels of sonic mastery without separations or exceptions. The track by De Waard is a composite of the Tietchens, Wehowsky and Merzbow contributions, while the final “Toowong cemetary” is an original recording by Watermann himself; yet, it must be stressed that this album is permeated by a conceptual consistency that – together with its crafty assemblage effort – indeed allows thinking of it as the last release by this maverick from down under before his untimely death.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Soundskop #2 (Sfumato)
There is much to learn from underground labels; as a matter of fact, this collection of electroacoustic tracks by entities coming from geographic areas as diverse as Poland, France, U.S.A., Canada and Italy is absolutely excellent in its unpretentiousness, as many of the pieces contained here could literally put to shame several overhyped big names. Concentrating their (usually pretty raw) materials and a fierce creativity in durations that never exceed the five-minute frame, all these artists manage to bring evidence of their primal impulses while maintaining complete control on the structure; industrial noise, environmental pollution and home-made instruments are the main protagonists in a series of disorientating pieces, whose unpredictability avoids the risks of an insulse classification. The dominance of gloom, displacement-like feelings and sense of doubt pervades the whole album, whose continuing efficiency and coherent, multiform facets do not require highlighting any names. Just get your copy, raise the volume just that bit and discover for yourselves what can be done with sound -even without being filthy rich.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Verfassung (Hörbar)
In the liner notes, Hörbar is described as “an important meeting point for producers and consumers of experimental music in Hamburg”. This vinyl documents the activity of fourteen artists who are an active part of this industrious collective. As usual with this kind of compilation, it’s better to listen to it as a whole: the quality level varies a bit but there are several moments well worth of a careful check, especially on the first side, a subdued mix of nice delicacies at times contrasted by noise contraptions and redesigned frequencies. Hamburger “par excellence” Asmus Tietchens – himself a Hörbar member – is present with a short contribution. Side B is a little more “regular” as far as the assemblage quality is concerned, yet it contains my favourite track: “Die Stimme des Arztes” by Margitt Holzt, a well conceived, subtle concoction of subsonic pulse and field recordings – including delicious bird-singing – which in its effective naiveté reminds everyone that the best sounds are always near – if only we learned to listen.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – I, mute hummings / Mute scribbles (Ex Ovo)
The label headed by Mirko Uhlig – aka Aalfang Mit Pferdekopf – presents a high-level “compilation of drone music & dulcet atmospheres” by nine lead players of the game, originally intended to be released on vinyl but now issued as a full-length CD with three late additions. It’s one of the best gatherings of drone-manipulating artists that I’ve ever heard, and you know that my heart is not tender with this kind of stuff. Keith Berry opens the dances with “The crossing”, instantly setting the quality bar quite high: a simple elaboration of haunting atmospheres and extensions of silence is beautifully complemented by memories of children at play by the water of a calm sea or a lake, delicious field recordings ending the piece with a virtual deep sigh of melancholy. Fear Falls Burning uses a two-chord loop – it almost sounds like a flamenco progression – as a basis for an intriguing superimposition of cyclical guitars in “Everything was wrong”. Dronaement explores the fascinating features of vinyl noise and extraneous suggestions with “Evocation (Phonorecord III)”, an intelligent minimal composition made with a few well conceived touches. One of the best offerings comes from Troum, whose “Thrausmata Enos Oneirou” is the longest track here, a mind-consuming alternative dream between catathony and REM, muffled reverberations and morphing melodies accompanying the altered voices of invisible souls. Jeffrey Roden mixes organic sounds and crumbling recollections in the evocative “The seeds of happiness”, which lets us spiral into oblivion after a few minutes of bliss, then ends with – yes – humming frequencies. Paul Bradley has never brought something under average to the table and his “Aurorean”, a fetching cloud of static synthetic matter, confirms the rule. Steve Jolliffe’s flute is reworked by Uhlig with a “redundant minimal development mix” in “One more haggard drowned man”, a “sub-aquatic vs Jethro Tull” segment that I would see more useful on the Mystery Sea label than here, although it’s overall quite nice. While Column One’s “Live recording #3″ is a little more than an intellectual (?) exercise, a creaky repetition of piercing squealing noise that effectively contrasts the other compositions, “White nights” by Richard Lainhart is a static mini-masterpiece where harmonically gorgeous layers of long tones put the audience in resonance with the surroundings, leaving us unhappy when the piece – and the album – is over. It’s the record’s best, together with Berry, Troum and Roden. The first 100 copies of “I, mute hummings” contain the bonus compilation “Mute scribbles”, a CD with with eight tracks by Mirko Uhlig, Monostabil, Feu Follet, Tholen, Emerge, Brian Uzna, Aalfang Mit Pferdekopf and Balog. It’s a nice present – Uhlig and Aalfang tracks being a head and a half in front of all the rest as far as depth and compositional dexterity are concerned – but not on the same level of the main CD, which is the one to have at all costs.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Touch 25 (Touch)
Jon Wozencroft’s label is 25 years old this year. “Touch 25″ is a tasty birthday cake, made as it is of previously unreleased tracks by Touch artists interspersed with real life fragments and particulars. Such is the conceptual affinity of these recordings that one could play them in random mode all day and still get the feeling of being part of a sound installation, not as a visitor but as a sonic reproduction unit. Philip Jeck fuses three live segments to inundate the air with hunchback melancholy; Rosy Parlane walks very slowly through a quagmire of morphing timbres over a pretty basic harmony. Bruce Gilbert talks with deadpan voice over a fabulous slowed down cuckoo clock, while Johan Johansson presents an engrossing piece for Hammond organ, ring modulator and violincello (sic). Oren Ambarchi, Fennesz and Rafael Toral’s contributions are exactly what you’d expect (loops from the centre of the earth, acoustic pastel-cum-laptop and crystalline sinewaves) and all three are just beautiful. Field recordings come from BJNilsen, Chris Watson and, unexpectedly, Biosphere (you gotta love those Norwegian howling wolves and forest birds). Nice, but pretty average material is given by Mother Tongue (Z’EV), Peter Rehberg, Pan Sonic and Mark Van Hoen. And now, my personal podium: Tanja Orning and Hild Sofie Tafjord’s 33 seconds (too bad) for cello, horn and electronics and Jacob Kirkegaard’s gorgeous hypnosis, generated by recording a giant tube leading sea water into a nuclear reactor, are beaten by a split hair by Ryoji Ikeda, whose “Untitled #25″ features frequencies that stopped my breathing for a few, long seconds while putting all my house’s glass in full-tremble mode, earthquake-style.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Montreal sound matter/Montréal matiere sonore (Pogus)
Francisco Lopez, who calls Montreal his second home, gathered eight electroacoustic composers (himself included) to explore the city’s potential for intriguing sounds. Every source was recorded in April 2006, all the participants sharing “the common pool of sound matters” and creating music as diverse as their personalities would lead us to expect, yet linked by a sort of communion that lets us appreciate the album as an organic whole rather than as a compilation. Yet, a highlight reel is necessary. The birds and cars juxtaposed with electronic hisses by Steven Heimbecker in “Sunday MSM” were my first head up in the album, a nature/future connection which is always appreciated by this observer. Birds are also featured in Chantal Dumas’ “s/t w/t”, a disquieting piece full of suspensions, distant memories, sirens and whispers – both literal and figurative – which contribute to a growing state of anxious expectancy in one of the disc’s highest moments. Lopez brings one of his “Untitled” tracks to the table (an excerpt from #188) alternating his trademark centre-of-the-earth heartbeats with digital contraptions and foaming liquids, the whole gaining momentum halfway through the piece. Should I name a favourite segment, I would indicate the consecutiveness of Louis Dufort’s “Matério_*”, fusing natural sounds and impressive low-frequency glissando in stunning fashion (are there airplanes or slowed down strings in there?) and Tomas Phillips’ “White-Gray”, easily the most electronic-sounding composition but probably also the one that touches deepest, thanks to Phillips’ restraint and excellent taste in the manipulation of very intense resonances and glacial, Biosphere-like emissions, the outcome a gorgeous one.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Dislocations. Music for a picture (Sqrt)
Another curious project from Lukasz Ciszak’s label, “Dislocations” is a DVD (in European PAL standard) containing 12 pictures by different photographers, each one with a soundtrack composed exclusively for the occasion. Besides having a chance to look at some fascinating frames, we experience the whole gamut of musics related to this Polish imprint; the involved artists are OddJob, Slowtion, Planetaldol, Blue Sabbath Black Fiji, Noisegarden, Antmanuv, ps stamps back, Emiter, The Carousel Painter, Lukasz Ciszak, Tzii and Wolfram. As usual, the inherent dangers in such a kind of compilation are many, but this document escapes them through a couple of fundamental characteristics, namely idiosyncrasy and coherence. Although the tracks are quite wide-ranging, moving from pure electricity, shortwave and noise collages to impressive field recordings and obsessive drones (not to mention strange solo guitar elucubrations), everything falls in place at the right moment, thus reassuring our being about the inner beauty of those sonic detours that, in other instances, may sound less persuasive and more incidental. The parallelism between images and sounds is not always smooth, but even the most frictional juxtapositions give us food for thought and, in any case, several angles for judgement. Apart from the beautiful photos, there’s a lot of great music to be savoured here; my personal favorites are the tracks by Slowtion, Tzii and Wolfram, but the whole DVD is quite good.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Calenda (Rudimentol)
Portugal has been the birthplace of some of the most inquisitive musicians and intelligent realities in Europe for several years now, and “Calenda” is a great example of these minds’ ingeniousness, its value even higher considering that a compilation of mostly little known artists is usually chock full of highs and lows. Not so for this one, which was realized by Rudimentol’s boss Miguel Cabral and Pedro Alçada, both also contributing with a track; twelve segments, one for every month of the year – hence the record’s name – show the ability of the involved soundscapers in their respective field of action, with the accent on electroacoustic collages (Joao Silva & Carlos Santos, IFF & Travassos being among the best) often born from home and field recordings later modified via laptop. The good news is that all the pieces, either one likes them or not, possess individual features and don’t sound like discarded remnants, which is usually the case in many similar projects. A couple of oddities are thrown in for good measure, like symbols of a polite dissent: Rodrigo Magalhaes’ digital-delayed TV set paired with a vacuum cleaner, Pedro Alçada’s low-budget fake electro-disco, Cabral’s genreless multitracked solo improvisation. From different fronts, Nalalana’s electronics create amorphous sequences of semi-static space music and harsh noise, while Frango presents a pale spiral of superimposed guitar manipulations over calmer bass and drums. Yet, deep in my heart my preference goes to Miguel Leiria Pereira’s “September”, a splendid and concise mixture for two double basses and environmental sounds whose perfect balance between lyricism, freedom and musique concrete makes the track shine at the top of an anthology that’s consistently excellent in every aspect.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – On isolation (Room40)
The concept of isolation has always had great importance in the music of the last 30 years, to the point that one of the many sub-genres born from the fertile mind of reviewers is the much used, but never fully explained “isolationism”. In this particular instance, the tracks were commissioned “to interpret senses of disconnection, isolation and solitude”, common feelings in a world that recognizes sensibilities and talents as something to shroud, or fight against, rather than encourage. Fifteen artists working in the contiguous areas of contemporary electronica, installation and field recordings propose their individual rendering of the main notion, building worlds that may last few minutes yet let us have a peep at the fascinating possibilities that solitude brings in terms of sonic development. Without recurring to phantasmagoric efforts, the participants contribute to many seriously pleasing moments of detachment from the substantial failures and heavy frustrations of everyday’s life, either by opening new spaces and dimensions (Richard Chartier, Ben Owen) or having us self-analyze our harmonic being (David Toop, Janek Schaefer) through a balanced use of actual instruments and environmental manifestations. Evocative resonances are contained by Stephan Roux’s “Guet-Apens”, a perfect example of modern ambient music which also happens to be an aesthetic high of the disc, while Richard Francis and Nest transform guitars and computers into a wall of claustrophobic noise in “The wine cellar”. And if we’re ever assured about the great quality of Steinbrüchel’s layerings – his “Mono” being no exception – I’m once again willing to single out the compositional endowment of Dale Lloyd, whose “Among the many” first hypnotizes through repetitive structures, then surprises with a sudden transition to more concrete mechanical sounds. Another brilliant piece of work in a high-level compilation you don’t want to miss.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Somethings #1 (Last Visible Dog)
Rarely compilations sound as “innocent” as this one, a gathering of artists working in the grey areas between sound installation, field recording and EAI curated by Ilya Monosov (who also contributes with one of the best tracks of the CD, juxtaposing environmental sources, trumpet and delicate electronics in stunning fashion). The clarity of intents demonstrated by the involved names, which include Chie Mukai, Sarah Peebles, Masayoshi Urabe, Nick Castro, Preston Swirnoff, Andrew Deutsch & Joe McPhee, is at the basis of pieces that range from extreme purity and single-subject explorations to more complex elaborations of different plans and ideas, like in the Deutsch/McPhee duet. The bulk of this music gains its strength from gestures that derive either from natural acts or instantaneous happenings. Then comes along Sarah Peebles, who layers beautiful hypnotic drones to be listened to at sunset (if one follows her instructions) and one realizes that no description is necessary for something that is as obvious as deeply touching. In that sense, each one of the soundscapers brings a uniqueness of approach that is a pleasure to experiment on our receptive organs, like being subjected to the very first rays of a spring sun after a cold winter. The appearance of some these pieces could be mistaken as compositionally frail; yet, the objective determination of the artists is something to marvel at, especially when they obtain interesting results with means as poor as their pocket’s contents (Nick Castro). A warmly recommended listening, genres and definitions be damned.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Spellewauerynsherde, Interpretations Various & Sundry (Trans>parent Radiation)
Akira Rabelais’ namesake release on Samadhi Sound brought to the attention of alternative music fans the fascinating recordings of Icelandic a cappella lament songs, transforming them in something that at times was truly magical. This collection of reworked fragments of the same tapes, while inaugurating Bremsstrahlung’s sub-label Trans>parent Radiation, is also an appropriate occasion to revisit those evocative sounds through different versions, which were commissioned to ten present-era manipulators. Many of them infused their own uniqueness with the need of new views usually required by a collective project, some in a very successful manner. Carmen Baier’s “Spelle” is just wonderful in its rarefied petrifaction of an aurora-like mantle of vocal elongations, a lysergic aural innervation where words have no meaning anymore, yet one keeps listening in a vane try to find the guiding light of a reason to proceed. Steve Roden is on the same wavelength: his remodelling translates the lamentations into damp invocations to unknown forces, infinite reverberations generating conflicting hues dissolving into nothingness. Fennesz would sound like himself even when forced to play underwater, his track a fertile land of wrinkled melancholy and computerized recollection. Both Kit Clayton and Alejandra & Aeron’s interpretations have a mutating quality, like if they were immersed in amniotic liquid, while Taylor Deupree’s piece seems to depict him gently kissing the old photograph of a native woman, then shredding it into minuscule bits and pieces that look like discontinuous snow. Josh Russell juxtaposes looped bells, found sounds, dirty electronics and voices to bewitch us in a spiral of unconscious reversals of material and spiritual, and Nobukazu Takemura destroys the original’s poetry with his own world of harshness, transforming a chant into a mirage amidst the burning violence of real time, an interesting contrast of sacred and profane ending in dissonant electronica. Stephan Mathieu mixes rain and urban sources to the vocal treatments, highlighting the deep solitude that afflicts people walking in the streets, hopelessly looking at some feeble sign of improvement in their meaningless parabolas. Splendid stuff comes from i8u, who keep things pretty natural by seaming a heartache-tinged melody with a marine-like sonic wash, a worthy conclusion for this excellent release. Speakers are highly recommended, due to the abnormally occlusive frequencies featured in the majority of the tracks.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Golden (Trans>parent Radiation)
I won’t be annoying you with the reminder of what the Golden Mean is; furthermore, this CD features detailed liners that will eventually help even the hardest-headed pseudo-philosophers and nouvelle-vague scientists to grasp a basic definition of that concept. Then again, those familiar with mathematics – or with Elliott Sharp’s work, for that matter – have certainly heard about the Fibonacci series, something that selected cultural heavyweights (whose knowledge is mostly based upon a couple of magazine articles) are touting today like they had invented the wheel ex novo. Let’s get down to business now. Defined as “wide-ranging interpretations of the Golden Mean”, this album reunites eleven composers who contributed with music that was totally or partially derived/inspired by this law. The track succession allows us a few considerations throughout a bunch of interesting moments, some of them extremely nice-sounding (Jos Smolders’ impressively stifling low hums, Toy.Bizarre’s concise monochromatic dream, Dale Lloyd’s melange of dried leaves and tone frequencies, Brent Fariss’ alternance of throb and spectral nuances), others clearly experiment-oriented (Goldene Schnitte’s Max/MSP transformations and altered realities) or curious hybrids (Dan Warburton’s processing of his own environmental recordings). Amidst the tracks, long silent segments are featured; through those apertures, the sounds of external life creep in, thus contributing to that kind of fractal (im)perfection that our hypothetical intimate stability should accept as a conditio sine qua non, but could easily annoy a perfectionist instead. Speaking of which, Toshiya Tsunoda’s “5 ratios of pipes” are submitted to repeated short interruptions that break the sonic flow quite disturbingly – but it was meant to be that way. The risk of invading the “overly conceptual” region in operations like this is pretty high, and the difference between the compositional techniques and the listeners’ needs (certain pieces are better enjoyed via speakers, while other ones require headphones, otherwise fundamental particulars will be missed) leaves no doubt: “Golden” is a record that requires reiterated listens to be fully comprehended. By doing this, we were abundantly repaid. Not for casual by-passers, then.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Extract (Nonvisualobjects)
For a label named Nonvisualobjects, issuing a book would seem an incomprehensible move. But, as Heribert Friedl and Raphael Moser explain in the introduction, they did it just in case that “the inevitable decay of digitally stored media” cancels every trace of this kind of art and culture. The thought of having passed a whole life transferring tapes to CD and DVD only to clutch at flies at the end is enough to think of myself as a cretin but hey, one has to find something to “enjoy the passage of time”, as James Taylor would have it. Seriously, once upon a time I could only have dreamed about a honest publication containing news and pictures about artists whose music I follow and mostly respect, and that in this case are sonically represented by two CDs containing tracks that they recorded for this special occasion. The names in question are Keith Berry, Richard Chartier, Taylor Deupree, Heribert Friedl, Richard Garet, Andy Graydon, Bernhard Günter, John Hudak, i8u, Dean King, Dale Lloyd, Roel Meelkop, Will Montgomery, Tomas Phillips, Steve Roden, Jos Smolders, Steinbrüchel, Nao Sugimoto, Asmus Tietchens, Toshiya Tsunoda, Ubeboet, Michael Vorfeld. Every chapter presents an interview or some personal considerations by the artist about his own work and his/her relationships with other members of the same community. Most of them describe their approach and influences, others let drawings and photographs do the speaking while only a few – like Keith Berry, whose splendid track opens the first disc – report about the intimate sensations that unconsciously introduced them to certain types of withdrawn awareness. It is of course very interesting to know how these people have reached goals while still struggling to develop new means to synthesize determinate conclusions, but it’s equally nice reading about a man like Asmus Tietchens, who distances himself from most everything while being capable of producing music whose level of efficacy on the perceptive system is portentous to say the least. The discs contain a lot of great moments, the perfect means to complement a very useful reading, and there is no actual sense in defining a “best of”. But, since you asked, Berry, Deupree, Lloyd, Roden, Tietchens and Ubeboet are the tracks that I liked in particular, and it was not an easy choice. What I really suggest is using both the book and the CDs like a breviary: open your windows, turn the volume up, let the sounds mix and read a few pages. Everything will make sense then.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – A nice noise evening Vol.1 ([&])
A rare case of wallpaper package that does not contain wallpaper music, this Spartan production by Matjaz Galicic’s label features four low-budget noise projects. Two hail from Slovenia (A.U.B. and Gen 26), one from Australia (Justice Yeldham And The Dynamic Ribbon Device) while Man Manly comes from “Artistic nomad state”. Go figure. All the “music” was recorded live in Ljubljana, Slovenia in the November of 2005. You won’t find a place to put your mind at rest throughout this record but, if taken in the right moment and with a very elastic disposition, there is some good enough stuff to be appreciated here, often dressed by a certain degree of irony (check the absurd electro-version of Wham’s “Wake me up before you go-go” – or is it? – at the end of A.U.B.’s segment). Abundant distortion all over the place, total saturation of the brain, an increasing nervous distress while listening to the Man Manly piece, which sounds like an earth loop that’s about to disintegrate your head paralleled by some dysfunctional filtered screaming. Without pretentious stances or stupid tazebaos backing the hullabaloo, and in consideration of its not excessive length, this CDR passes my patience’s test. Better still, it’s almost amusing to a certain extent, as long as you don’t expect your girlfriend to show you any respect after you play it.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Crows of the world (Last Visible Dog)
Reviewing a compilation doesn’t come easy to yours truly, since I always find myself suspended between the will of giving the maximum available detail and the risk of writing a novel about something that often is just a good gadget, or a nice introduction to a label. But, as it happens with “Crows of the world”, luck has it that the homogeneity of the performances and the average value of the music allow me to replace too many explanations and clarifications with an overview. Over two discs, eleven tracks present a selection of soloists, duos or trios whose music – for the large part taped live improvisations – can easily be attached to the new psychedelic bandwagon, with a few exceptions that range from the cheap-but-nice keyboard mantra (Ilya Monosov and Preston Swirnoff’s double-organ piece) to the involuntarily offbeat homage (Andrea Belfi, whose track sounds like a low-budget version of a Jon Hassell/Musci & Venosta collaboration). The “hypnotic guitar jangle” factor is highly evident throughout, “Horse latitudes” by Paper Wings a valid symbolic representation, while Northern Cross introduce a menacing attitude where distortion and pulse push towards industrial borders. Sunken’s “Twin beaks” is the longest piece at more than 21 minutes of wailing, looping and organ-ing. Brasil and the Gallowbrothers band, from Poland, link concrete music and detached paranoia, thus differing a little bit from the rest; this is intended as a sort of compliment. There’s also someone (I’ll leave the subtle pleasure of discovery to the listener) who initially exchanged this album for a tribute to Pink Floyd’s “Careful with that axe, Eugene”, then added drunken vocals to heavily out-of-tune guitars to complete the disaster. It lowers the overall mark quite a bit. Still, a single stiff amidst several contenders can be acceptable and – if you don’t expect miracles, especially in terms of recording quality – a few nice “aurally stoned” moments can be found effortlessly.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Yasujiro Ozu Hitokomakura (And/OAR)
We owe a lot to labels like And/OAR. Not only because they present us with some of the most extraordinary environment-based aural experiences, something that Dale Lloyd’s imprint releases with impressive constancy, but also for their contribution to what was used to be called “culture”, either in terms of “learning to penetrate both the essence of sound and the absence of it” (which, on a second thought, means much more than culture) or “encouraging new artistic interests” through cross-references to different fields of contemporary creativity. Enter Japanese filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu (1903-1963), a highly respected figure in the opinion of movie connoisseurs, his art being mostly constructed upon “insights into family relations, everyday struggles and simple pleasures”, as per Doug Cummings’ liners. Characteristics that, in today’s self-indulgent world, assume a fundamental meaning since our very life – the life outside the circles of “powers” and “establishments”, the good old “regular existence” that once was a given if one just stayed on a course, and today is threatened unless you bend to not exactly explained “rules” – can keep going on exclusively by nourishing the core of normality, an extraneous annoyance for the non-silent majority (“money, sex, fame” is nowadays’ single refrain). When one takes the whole under a microscope, comparing the activity of listening “in” silence and “to” silence to the inner balance that we should always maintain, and which seems to stimulate abnormal behavioural responses in a largely repressed human neighbourhood, then it’s possible to acknowledge the importance of such an edition. A double CD comprising 31 tracks – their compositional methods analyzed in the PDF booklet available as a file in both discs – whose beauty is reinforced by a series of factors that include the depth of the location recordings constituting the foundation of the large part of this music, the sensitive use of instruments and electronics complementing them, the pregnant hush that leaves spaces for the mind to add its own variations and colours and, last but not least, the earnestness of the participants (among the many Marc Behrens, Keith Berry, Lawrence English, Heribert Friedl, Bernhard Günter, Haco, John Hudak, Jason Kahn, Dale Lloyd, Roel Meelkop, Kiyoshi Mizutani, Steve Roden, Sawako, Steinbrüchel, Taku Sugimoto, Toshiya Tsunoda). There are outstanding moments of contemplative self-collection (a personal highlight is the Berry/Mizutani/Michael Shannon consecutiveness on the second disc) and several sections where we struggle to distinguish between record and reality (until, in my case, I was brought back to the latter by the firing guns of the nearby hunters during Günter’s wonderful flute meditation, reminding that the battle against men’s stupidity is definitely a lost cause). All things considered, Ozu is probably smiling somewhere, as this is a gorgeous piece of sound art that succeeds in every account, the perfect tribute to painful sensibility.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Electronic music Vol.III – Musica Viva Competition Prize Winners 2004-2005-2006 (Miso)
I couldn’t ask for a more self-explanatory title indeed. It only remains to say that Musica Viva is a competition of young electroacoustic composers – organized yearly by Portuguese Miso Music – that has become one of the most important European references for this genre, with an average of about 120 applicants a year. The eight artists featured in this disc are Adrian Moore and Joshua Goldman (2004), Panayiotis Kokoras, Pedro Almeida and Santiago Dìez Fischer (2005), Ingrid Obled, Manuella Blackburn and Thomas Peter (2006). There’s always hope for the discovery of new talents, especially in a field that offers the opportunity of creating truly innovative music while also risking of giving chances to stolid manipulators of low-budget (?) artificial intelligences that in the end sound like a pile of exhausted walkie-talkies. Luckily, in this occasion we’re treated quite well, as even the less profound pieces maintain a level of dignity and, why not, divertissement that makes them bearable enough (an example being Joshua Goldman’s “Language”, for seven vocalists required to emit sounds without their vocal cords). I detect a slight gap between the different “classes”, balanced by the presence of someone whose degree of compositional maturity exceeds the “been there” factor, which is a concrete possibility in all acousmatic artefacts. Given that the opening track, the fascinating “Dreaming of the dawn” by Adrian Moore, reminds us that this composer is already a “name” who has recently published a CD on Empreintes DIGITALes (reviewed here last month), and that Pedro Almeida’s “In rota” is a gorgeous pastiche fusing impermanent abstractions and mirrored illusions, my hats off goes to the women, and not for a question of gallantry. Ingrid Obled, a double bassist from Toulouse (France), breaks silence with impressive low frequencies and unexpected discharges in “Si je regarde”, while London’s Manuella Blackburn – the lot’s youngest artist, born in 1984 – transforms the products of an electric guitar into a microscopic universe where every movement is determined by principles of causality. She could be my daughter, but Manuella’s brainchild made me feel, for lack of a better word, little. Roland Kayn would be proud.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Roulette russe pour un peu de caviar (Monochrome Vision)
Commissioned by Studio Forum in Annecy, France to be presented at the Bruit de la Neige festival in 2007, this compilation comprises twelve Russian entities, some of them unknown to me, others (Alexey Borisov, Bardoseneticccube, Exit in Grey) already heard on these shores in different circumstances. Let’s put things in perspective by telling that this writer is no fan of the “VV.AA.” typology as far as writing a review is concerned, as I find unjust not being able to scrupulously analyze each and every component of such a gathering. On the other hand, there are obvious differences in the level of the presentations and it is never pleasing writing “this is excellent, this sucks, this is so-and-so”. That said, “Roulette russe” is one of the few multi-name releases that were liked enough of late at my house. The area around which the music floats is the place where Russians have always maintained a certain degree of seriousness: drone, industrial, dark-ish electronica (possibly with cheap sources and means, but it’s not a given). Borisov’s track, for example, is merely a minute or less of flanged hum yet it sounds great, and also nice is CD-R’s self-explanatory “Concert for the street and shopping center”, the most “concrete” material on offer – a well realized “easy idea”. In thorough contrast to what was lamented before, enjoy my two favourites: Exit in Grey’s “999”, a wonderful moaning meditation verging on the blackest black, and Cisfinitum’s “Moscow 09.03.06” whose suspended atmosphere recalls Yes, specifically the beginning of “I get up I get down” on “Close to the edge” (curiously I also used this comparison for a piece by Stephan Mathieu & Janek Schaefer a while ago, but the resemblance to that old moment of juvenile awareness is stunning just the same here). Overall, a rather intriguing release containing several moments of introspection.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Airport symphony (Room40)
Sometimes, framing a piece of real life causes us to better enjoy effects on the psyche that were probably missing on a distracted look. There is much to like in this double CD – commissioned by the Queensland Music Festival and Brisbane Airport Corporation – which basically derives from field recordings revealing the heartbeat of an aircraft, the soul of a large hall, the voice of animals and humans living side by side with huge machines. In essence, Lawrence English made these tapes “in and around Brisbane airport between March and June 2007” then gave the rough materials to 18 sound artists, who built a composition with those sources one way or another. I’m usually averse to quoting a full list of participants but this project makes sense as a whole, plus (almost) everybody did a great job, thus as a compromise I’ll give you the surnames only: Grubbs, Chartier, López, Hannan, Deupree, Charles, Lloyd, Behrens, Tsunoda, Hecker, Mathieu, Fennesz, Beins, Kahn, Krieger, Sugimoto (Keiichi, not Taku), Willits and Stern. There seems to be a sub-conceptual separation in the discs: the first basically revolves around the airplanes as sonic generators, while the second is mostly constructed upon static transformations of the environmental matter, although with exceptions on both. For someone like this reviewer, who perceives the moan of an approaching plane as one of the most direct links with consciousness, enjoying this edition means setting aside two and a half hours of your day, preparing to be swallowed by several moments of bliss. Specifically, at least six episodes can be placed in the “required listening” section of existence: Chartier, López, Hannan, Behrens (his segment featuring cicadas and crickets is a must), Mathieu and Stern. I won’t waste any more time in trying to define something that words can’t; just take the tracks for what they are, either treatments of existing sounds or snapshots of reality (or ????, check the Toshiya Tsunoda stinger, lowering the volume in advance). A few spins is all it takes to get hooked, provided that you’re not looking for intellectual inspections. Those who are scared of flying, or suffer from anxiety when hearing a jet engine, might want to stand clear off this set.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Sieben mal solo (Schraum)
The title means “seven times solo”, giving out the content of the record: seven solitary improvisations recorded at “Cri du coeur”, a Berlin atelier where the involved parties were invited by Schraum to perform in front of a “very interested audience”. This is one of the best “various artists” album that I came across in recent times; tracks that might be classified as under average are absent, several of them being quite beautiful instead. Dave Bennett opens with a “ogrephonique” patchwork which indeed sounds like a cross of neo-folkish lute music and factory noise. Lars Scherzberg executes a coherent and lively improvisation for alto sax, bodily and airy at the same time, while Axel Haller mostly wanders around the drone territory with the e-bass. Paul Hubweber’s trombone needs no introduction here, his chattering style always funny to hear – and what a technique. Ute Völker squeezes and hits her accordion in a muscularly dissonant piece; Sabine Vogel confirms a major inventiveness with a creation for bass flute and electronics that mixes alien birds and reminiscences from desolate settings. Christian Marien seals the disc via a concentrated percussive elaboration, every element perfectly disposed in regulated freedom. There is no necessity of recurring to special effects or bell-and-whistle pyrotechnics to guarantee a hour of pleasurable listening, and this CD really deserves attention – both as a release in itself and as an excellent calling card for deepening the knowledge of the featured musicians’ output.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Nothing works as planned (Interval)
There is a good variety of styles and atmospheres in this double CD, which collects live performances of new music by American and Israeli composers (Ido Govrin, Amnon Wolman, Jonathan Chen, Neil Leonard, Kiki Keren-Huss, Beth Denisch, Arie Shapira, Keren Rosenbaum and Yossi Mar-Chaim). The pieces should represent different approaches to the phrase that gives the title to this set, but in truth it’s rather perceivable as the effort of a community – led in this occasion by the American Composers Forum of New England – to find a common ground amidst variegated compositional methods and interpretations of contemporary visions, the whole presented in unconventional intimate settings. There’s difference between the two discs in terms of aesthetic: the first contains works that could almost be placed into a quasi-newfangled electronica sector (Govrin’s static minimalism, Chen’s unfolding spirals of noise, Leonard’s organic mysteriousness-cum-saxophone), while the second winks more to XX-century classic scores, with the majority of the situations involving acoustic instruments in pretty dissonant clothes and tendencies to non-serene disillusion (Mar-Chaim’s piece for violin, contrabassoon and electronics, but also the disturbing “War” by Keren-Huss, which includes disquieting human voices expressing sufferance). The impression remains one of a reunion of people familiar with the reciprocal particularities, and the rarefied applause heard at the end of the performances gave me the idea of an audience formed by few knowledgeable aficionados. Interesting disc, in any case.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Favourite places (Audiobulb)
A lot of good quality from the “various artists” sector in recent times, given that I’m certainly not a fan of such a kind of release. The concept behind this is easily defined: each artist had to use a recording of his/her favourite location (according to “their subjective perspective of the place”) in a specific composition destined to this project. As variegated as it is, the album presents an evident subdivision in a home/far from home distinction. True, there are those who get inspired by their own house – be it because of its proximity to a forest, or due to just anything that an apartment has been meaning for long periods – or who fondly remember the venue where they got “first experiences” (baby steps, meditation, first-time love). The second group privileges memories and direct testimonies of trips or socio-geographic investigations, such as finding themselves amidst a mass of pilgrims near a sacred river or getting attacked by aggressive birds while trying to look at an island from the coast. Even the resonating voices and muffled noises in a museum can do it. To the extreme, there’s someone who decided that a bathroom is the best spot, and relaxing in hot water the preferred means of concentration. I gave you a few clues about what you’re going to find in this nice disc, now what’s missing is only the participant list: Taylor Deupree, Dot Tape Dot, Claudia, Biosphere, John Kannenberg, RF, Aaron Ximm, Build, Leafcutter John, Nomad Palace. Each one gives us something intriguing enough to listen carefully in this well-conceived edition.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – SIGNAL TO NOISE VOL. 6 (For 4 Ears)
The final volume of this excellent series features the usual Swiss suspects (Jason Kahn, Norbert Möslang, Günter Müller and Tomas Korber) with the most important names of Seoul’s EAI/noise scene, which include Hong Chulki, Ryu Hankil, Choi Joonyong, Bae Miryung, Jin Sangtae and Sato Yukie. Transforming coldness and detachment in something that can elicit a response from the neural system is the specialization of this breed of improvisers. The penetrating character of their pieces isn’t really ill-mannered, yet there’s no way to remain passive – sooner or later a reaction occurs, usually one of bodily instability. You change position while sitting, cross your legs, twitch fingers. The interference becomes norm, pulses are established only to be instantly ruined by some motorized crescendo or by malfunctioning machineries. The feel is similar to meeting an inescapable destiny, like if those mechanical rhythms and semi-regular patterns affirmed the disintegration of a man’s ability to love, thus indicating the definitive end of the era where romanticism was still recalled as necessary every once in a while. Peevish frequencies and humming malaise describe a new morning of slippery incongruities, where what used to appear just beautiful now hides the dangers brought by previously unknown senses of guilt. Music that leaves no illusions: one must adapt to the silent creeping until the mood is totally controlled or we’ll be plainly put out of the picture, reflecting about that lesson that life was desperately trying to teach. Ear wax won’t help. A pathetic ego won’t, either.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Graceful degradation: variations (Sourdine)
“Graceful degradation” is of course one of Asher’s most intriguing albums, so the fact that seven central figures operating in the planet of microsounds, electronica and minimal ambient have lent their know-how to reinterpret that music should not come as a shock. Ubeboet is the only one who decided to stroll around the early idea, leaving the timbral substance in the proximity of Asher’s distorted piano-on-tape musing and working on that basis in the long final piece, as the others invented new impressions altogether. Steinbrüchel fathers a dazzling cycle of emotional loops and drones interspersed by alien bird-like electronic intrusions, while Kenneth Kirschner evokes spectral images of remote, unrecognizable yet intimate figures. Heribert Friedl mixes clearly audible emissions and impalpable computer-generated hues to elicit intoxicated hypnosis, John Hudak placing his effort not distant from him thanks to attractive sequences bathed in a continuum of liquefied ringing washes. Brilliant things arrive from Steve Roden and Jason Kahn, the former inserting a mesmerizing chant amidst a fourth world-like pulse, the latter letting us get a glimpse of the original recording shrouded by water sounds complete with faraway metropolitan presences and intense participation by a couple of quacking ducks, the whole very “environmental Eno”, regrettably ending too soon, suddenly. An absorbing set, shedding a different light on the work of a composer whose recent success is totally earned.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Pilottilasit (N & B Research Digest)
While growing older I’m probably becoming kind-hearted. In another moment, this writer would have never thought of reviewing a record like this (moreover, a reissue of something originally released in 2000). Anton Nikkilä – the central character in this month’s Touching Extremes with no less than three reviews dealing with his work – is ubiquitously present in these “samples from Helsinki underground 1981-1987”, the most besmirched variety of homespun experimentation featuring absurd dissonant “songs” full of sloping riffs, detuned guitars and warped vocals. The influences are there, but the Finnish kids were quite individualistic in their approach, leaving errors and faltering rhythms on tape, stumbling across bass lines they could barely execute, crossing Dadaism with candid sarcasm. Yet this music has a heart, and a couple of tracks are very nice. My overall favourite: “Lonely beat” by Ferricjohnsson & Mika Taanila, a sample-based blissful miniature of human failure that sounds good to this day – even in absence of the slightest degree of equalization.
VARIOUS ARTISTS – Inductie (Sqrt)
The single condition dictated to the artists taking part in this project is that the single source had to be a guitar, allowing them to make full use of processing and modification of the instrument’s signal, whenever applicable. The result is mildly alluring for more than half of the pieces included, only a handful of snippets wandering around the no man’s land between “average” and “insufficient”, the bulk attempting to seduce us with sounds that may not be so advanced yet remain adequately interesting. Emiter opens the CD with a few minutes of static humming ended by a taped voice, Charles Lavenac maintains bits of the axe’s original character while disaggregating its timbral linearity. Red Needled Sea presents perplexing reverberations in a greyish atmosphere – a little bit of involuntary Ennio Morricone-like mystery in there – and the label’s boss Łukasz Ciszak shows the will of finding new solutions through a detachedly frosty cycle of stratified jangles. Olaf Rupp is exactly himself – an acoustic improviser essentially tending to turmoil – and, just maybe, WoO wins my trophy for the most captivating track of the album, “Legendary transmissions”: an absorbing, and unfortunately very short, melange of interference and droning waves lulling the brain into a state of stupor that, preposterously enough, also keeps the listener alerted. “Inductie” is not going to get the “compilation of the year” award, but – as it happens with all of this imprint’s releases – it surely was conceived with a satisfactory measure of appreciable seriousness.
VARIOUS ARTISTS / ELFFRIEDE – Soundrawing (Transacoustic Research)
Elffriede is an Austrian visual artists who had a simple yet effective idea: she sent drawings to 34 musicians across the globe, asking them to compose an accompanying piece of maximum 2 minutes of length, as inspired by the picture received. The CD comprises all the sonic products and comes in a nice package that joins the music with a booklet including the 34 sketches. A typical collector’s item, then – but with some surprise, as a matter of fact there is some disorientating stuff in there. Indeed the styles are schizophrenically variegated, the press release correctly dividing them into groups: soundscapes, electroacoustic, remixes, beats, clicks & cuts, acoustic instruments & songs. The whole was mastered by Martin Siewert and results as a pretty inexplicable album, obviously depending on the qualities and personalities of the involved parties; from uselessly naïve to deep-digging trance induction, one finds a little bit of everything without effort. The most famous names: John Grzinich, Murmer, Phill Niblock, Wolfgang Fuchs, André Gonçalves, Jörg Piringer, Billy Roisz. It is impossible, and also stupid in my opinion, to elaborate a choice list or a (necessarily partial) description of such a fragmented presentation. As previously hinted, this is more a graceful-sounding curiosity than else. Well, to be honest not always graceful – annoying moments are featured, too. Luckily, very few. “Soundrawing” keeps good company, though – and when this grumbler is in the right mood, that can even be enough. And the drawings? Better leave the judgement to someone else. I’m sticking to sounds.
VARIOUS ARTISTS / JUNKO WADA – Music dances itself (Sonic Arts Network)
Coming in a nice booklet whose gracious artwork was realized by visual artist Sarah Waring, “Music dances itself” is made of ten pieces that Japanese dancer Junko Wada assembled according to “emotional, not intellectual” choices, the most important being the fact that she loves dancing to them without the “need to construct the dance beforehand”. The involved sound artists are all friends and collaborators of Wada: Arno P. Jiri Kraehahn, Werner Durand, Akio Suzuki, Gordon Monahan, David Moss, Arnold Dreyblatt, Rolf Julius, Christina Kubisch and Hans Peter Kuhn (who also happens to be Wada’s husband). Each one contributed with a piece except Kraehahn, who gave her two; the distinct trait of each composer is clearly highlighted, yet through her selection Wada has generated a beautiful continuity that makes this CD a functional concept album. To quote her once again, “when my body listens to the music, I expect the essence of the sound to appear around me, allowing me to find the structure in the piece”. Suzuki, Moss and – in part – Julius explore silences and hollow shapes with very few means; Kuhn and Kraehahn build whole edifices with effective proximities. Dreyblatt is just himself, harmonics and resonance the foundation of his “Nodal excitation 1″. For my own taste, the most alluring music comes from Durand, Monahan and Kubisch – three completely different derivations of neo-minimalism which have the same intention, namely putting the listener in an “active trance” state or, as Werner Durand says, “to create the sound of a village band going into outer space”.
NIKOS VELIOTIS – Radial (Confront)
Nikos Veliotis uses his cello without overdubs to break long minutes of silence with longer, muffled “manual” drones. “Radial” is one of those records I like calling “Sunday afternoon winter music”: it’s perfect in those grey cold days when you just want to stare out of the window, a painkiller for your confused or aching head. Nikos resorts to this silence/sound alternance like he wanted to allow us some concentration before listening, almost like in an oriental ritual ceremony. His looping cello makes for a compact mass of altered static harmonies, never scattered around yet always with a touch of difference shifting your attention when you’re in full immersion. This is the most valuable aspect of a record that, imbued with deep knowledge, throws a bright light of beauty upon a lot of unanswered questions, especially in the first and third movements. But for me, the real magic is part 2: a dissonant, low register mantric slow current just imposing its presence in yourself.
NIKOS VELIOTIS / TAKU SUGIMOTO / KAZUSHIGE KINOSHITA / TAKU UNAMI – Quartet (Hibari)
The involved musicians play cello, guitars and violin; “Quartet” consists of two compositions and an improvisation. “Music for 4 stringed instruments”, by Sugimoto, is a trademark inspection of the span intercurring among balanced gestural stance and sonic events per se; unguarded and vulnerable in a quiet venue, with outside cars as the only perceivable background, the players pluck single strings in a moderate rarefaction, carefully clipping together their egoless aural illusions. “Aceghd” is yet another incorporeal drone by the Greek cello guru Veliotis: obfuscation of sensitivity towards outside stimulations is indeed what happens when one abandons himself to the rusty streams of this invaluable solitary confinement – the whole piece is a gentle, truly moving unobtrusive prayer. “Improvisation” sounds just like a third composition and an excellent one, too; blemished hush and committed illuminations create a series of marginal loopholes in the music: one of these will surely be perfect to escape from material absurdity, finally clearing up your fuddle.
NIKOS VELIOTIS / NICOLAS MALEVITSIS – Murder melody (Absurd)
The pairing of Nikos Veliotis’ cello and Nicolas Malevitsis’ turntable parts constitutes a very interesting combination, of which we can savour a little more than 17 minutes in this CD EP, part of a 2003 live recording in Athens. The low murmur of Nikos’ bowing starts alone, evoking spirits of introverted sadness that Nicolas revives through his manipulation of ground noise and stylus scratching. The music remains more or less confined within a meditative range, halfway through a distant storm approaching and a lamentation for people who are still alive but cannot hear a word of what’s being told about them. Lost is the melody, found is the murder of sentimental saccharine; I’d wish a full length album by this couple of Greek artists.
NIKOS VELIOTIS / DAN WARBURTON – VW (Absurd)
I know that it’s not fair reviewing a CD that’s been out of print, more or less, right after its release. The good reasons for doing it are at least two: first, the music contained here is so genuine that I hope to seriously tickle some good soul about a reissue; second, I was lucky enough to find it recently, so the interested ones could try and locate a copy somewhere (trawl the net, babies) because it really deserves the effort. The two nameless suites have identical length, 22’42″ for record keepers, the result of a 2001 recording session in Paris. Veliotis uses his share of soundfiles with his habitual restricted gestural range, developing a complex dullness containing the germs of an evolved comprehension; slight changes of dynamics mark a few passages during the piece, the first one being particularly impressive, a sudden entrance of an extraordinary low drone under the basic flow. Warburton, in his vast choice of unpredictable anti-patterns, calls out ancient symphonic spirits to assign them to the surveillance of an apparently calm harmony; but something is boiling underneath and we’re soon overpowered by bionic derivations of violins dancing with unknown force, their multiform dialects deriding our honest endeavour of adopting this music as a refreshing daily soundtrack.
NIKOS VELIOTIS / ANITA KAASBOLL / MICHAEL FRANCIS DUCH – The sea looks green when the sky is grey (Sofa)
A short but very significant album for cello, double bass and processed voice. Divided into three parts, the music is mostly based on the quivering growl of Duch’s arcoed bass, which in “En” occupies ample spaces with a continuum of disturbed stasis. The deep, cavernous resonance of the strings prevents any light from entering the picture, keeping the overall atmosphere extremely gloomy and restrained. Veliotis’ cello is more prominent in “Tre”: less harsh than in the first track, the breathing qualities of the respective timbres dance around very close intervallic designs, nearing the whole to areas not too distant from La Monte Young and Tony Conrad, even if Mark Wastell’s liners indicate Giacinto Scelsi and Tod Dockstader as influences. In each one of the three pieces, Kaasboll’s voice comes and goes, in and out the frame, acting like an instrumental “presence” that blemishes an otherwise immaculate entity; her looped utterances and guttural emissions can sound like a distant wind or a leaking tube, mixing well with the sense of incumbency generated by Duch and Veliotis. “Seks” closes the disc with a faraway menace, Veliotis’ hypnotic drone trying to calm down a beast fed on low-frequency harmonics. Kaasboll seems to observe from behind a wall, trembling and sighing because of the environment’s coldness. This is a scary, magnificent release graced by a splendid title.
VELMA – Barcelona (Testing Ground)
An interesting concoction of electro-minimal structures, voices and sampled sources (from radio or records) constitute the skeleton of “Barcelona”, another 3-inch CD from this interesting label. Everything starts with a throbbing low drone, the intensity of which grows from minute to minute while drum patterns lay almost imperceptibly in the background. When the whole has reached the saturation point, it changes to another scene where a female voice repeats chants amidst noises and pre-existing songs. The record ends with a stoned brief postlude made with acoustic guitar and vocals – until a sudden stop. Nice work.
ESTHER VENROOY – Shift coordinate points (Entr’acte)
A vinyl release whose sides are named “Arthur” and “Brussel” features seducing music by Esther Venrooy, who uses electronics and samples from “The CONET project” to foster a set of fascinating futuristic soundscapes which – strangely enough – seem to get their nourishment from the outside world if you listen to them with open windows. Venrooy bases her perspective upon enigmatic voices and elusive currents, only to surprise us at the beginning of the “Brussel” side with a sequenced melody that could have been written by the son of Hal from “2001 Space Odyssey” during a depression stretch. All sounds are carefully chosen and cleverly placed; it’s a sonic canvas functioning as active complement for reflection in a sort of “personal sound installation” that works wonders when your anonymous weekend afternoons are suggesting you to finally move to a new stage in life. The impact of “Shift coordinate points” is positively striking, reflecting this artist’s humble intelligence.
ESTHER VENROOY – The spiral staircase (Entr’acte)
This record – the second from Esther Venrooy heard on these shores – is so carefully constructed, its components splendidly deployed in a half-asleep, half-awake trip of sorts, that one shouldn’t hesitate in defining it as a milestone of today’s electronica. Still, the fact that this kind of music is released on vinyl remains a mystery to me. The nerve-rubbing fluxes and the fascinating successions of events in this composition deserve the chance of not having to wake up from torpor and flip sides, not to mention the possibility of infinite repeat. “The spiral staircase” develops its intelligent charm through various phases: the first part starts with the marine ebb and flow of an electronic wave, followed after a few minutes by a Radigue-like segment of ear-catching low-frequency radiation. Things get a little more agitated when the contrast of differently shaped emissions causes a series of intersections mixing spacey ambiences and slightly harsher quanta of oscillating action. The impact on the auricular membranes is seriously effective, our attention instantly captured by the continuous shifts of weight in the mix. At one point, towards the end of the side, some measure of vocal interference blemishes a fantastic undulating drone, a memorable moment indeed. In the second part a semi-distorted ringing tone introduces shades similar to the sound of a very distant jet, then we’re back to the underworld of throb, a constantly morphing luminescence alternated with a billowing rumble, the whole slowly fading to a gradually increasing mass of plumbeous strata. We remain in the company of a constant note, a repeated pulse whose resonance pervades the room and surrounds the brain, then a brilliant section with something akin to a modified cuckoo clock leads to the conclusion, floating bodies swimming around black stars, yet everything sounds rather present, almost there to put the fingers on, until a final loop indicates that our time is over. Too bad. This is a major statement needing an immediate re-edition, on compact disc.
ESTHER VENROOY / HELEEN VAN HAEGENBORGH – Mock interiors (Entr’acte)
It is by now ascertained that Esther Venrooy is a consequential name of early XXI century as far as probing scrutiny of the sonic spectrum is concerned. On the contrary, I never met Heelen Van Haegenborgh before, something whispering in my ear that another woman with serious balls is pressing forward in this zone. Remarkably, the ever-excellent Entr’acte label seems to represent the meeting place for female sharpness in that sense: girls like these, or Hamayôko, or the memorable Helena Gough (you haven’t heard “With what remains”? Wake up, then), are the expression of an increasing pool of talent that is right there, if only people learnt to observe attentively enough and stop running after every idiot that looks groggily drugged from a magazine’s cover. “Mock interiors” is kind on the nerves, yet incredibly intense; it could be ranked both in the advanced division of contemporary ambient and among the works by people who follow the footsteps of pioneers such as Eliane Radigue, to whom Venrooy is perennially matched up (rightly so in terms of vision, but the music is quite different: a little more unquiet vibrations in that transcendence, the attitude of a scientist rather than a meditating entity). Van Haegenborgh plays piano and harmonium besides contributing with her own compositions; in general, both artists privilege long reverberations and rarefied chords, elegant dapples of semi-concrete presence in a suspension of synchronizations and coincidental meetings. At times we clearly detect the existence of preparations on the piano strings – some rattle, some buzz – but the overall feel induce a sense of intimate reclusiveness, drops of alertness in self-disciplined systems sounding as allaying as a balm for strained lives.
VION & MEM – Onset (The Locus of Assemblage)
If your desire is being submitted to pretty strange, almost surreal electroacoustic music – a cross between glitch, noise, tape collage and field recordings – you have found your way: “Onset” must be one of the less easy to define records that I listened in 2004. The goal appears to be using 20 minutes to picture an impressionistic aural canvas where industrial and bucolic atmospheres meet; there are random outbursts leaving room to overwhelming distorted waves, everything ending in a concrete recording of water, bells and more environmental elements. Excellent indeed.
VIST AG – Vist Ag (Creative Sources)
A slight uncertainty arises from the difference between “Vistag” (as written on the sleeve) and “Vist Ag”, which is how Marcus Maida refers to the group in his liners. Either way, this is the first release by a quartet consisting of Annette Giesriegl (voice), Clementine Gasser (cello), Karl Sayer (double bass) and Michael Fischer (violin). The recording and mixing actions by Christoph Amann is a strong asset, as at whatever time this writer sees the Austrian engineer’s name on a record, then quality is practically assured both in sonic eminence and artistic consistence. “Vist Ag” makes no exception: the eight tracks – all named “Resonance” – fuse various components of improvisation, EAI and contemporary chamber music effortlessly, frequently approaching unexpected altitudes. At the beginning, Giesriegl’s utterances appear to be predominant over a nervously scraped basis of unquiet strings, and we look directed towards recognized territories. But, already in “Resonance 3”, surprises are found: the vocals are processed/harmonized into untraceable concordances, the double bass growing in potency and snarling menace, the violin and the cello echoing their essence in a sort of blissful tunnel halfway through purposeful timbral moonshines and nimble-fingered meddlesomeness. In “Resonance 4” the comparison of Sayer’s drones, Fischer’s detuned plucks and the haze created by Giesriegl’s breath pricks our imperturbability, forcing us to raise aerials to identify the defining minutiae that the music constantly reveals. “Resonance 6” is probably the record’s top, alternating surges and tranquility in an often dramatic turning of events, the theatrical parallelism of expression and strings here at the utmost height, while in the final “Resonance 8” one seems to feel the presence of Werner Durand’s PVC instruments – instead, it’s all treated voice. The sense of fulfillment experienced throughout long portions of the program is justified by Vist Ag’s coherent mix of inspired probing and technical underpinning, their subtleties so precious in a world where, too commonly, substance is mistaken for bushwash whereas barrenness is used as creed, a shield for modernist intellectuals to hide behind.
VLADIMIR ESTRAGON – Three quarks for Muster Mark (Tiptoe)
I maintain that internet is the best thing that could have happened to me in the last 15 years. If I still depended on the idiocy of record shops’ personnel (who, at least on these shores, declare “out of print” everything they don’t know – 95% of things – and when they miraculously have something difficult to obtain try to charge you twice the prices you’ll see after a 10-minute search on the web) I’d have had a hard time discovering an album like this, an unnoticed, unsung treasure trove of good ideas, lively irony and astonishing artistry. Consisting of Alfred Harth (tenor sax and clarinets), Phil Minton (voice and trumpet), F.M. Einheit (metals and electronics) and the excellent Ulrike Haage (keyboards, sequencer programming and samples), Vladimir Estragon were a paradise of lusty electronic arrangements whose preset-derived poetry was poisoned by oblique complexities and sudden animations entering the picture when less expected; and this is only a fraction of the whole. Minton’s typical parades of vocal characters depict a series of alternative abnormalities, as he accompanies absurd harmonic sequences with nonchalant schizophreny, often meshing his garbled glottology with the less consonant fruits from the rest of the group. And what about Harth’s immediately recognizable, charming-but-challenging lines? Be it in a profound duo with Haage’s piano (like in the initial “The warten”) or leading a double-edge thematic exposition together with Minton’s fiery trumpet, his playing remains connected with something that words can’t give justice to, and that I can only define as “lyrically corporeal”. Given Einheit’s slightly more obscure role – but his duet with Minton in “Der verbleibende Haufen” is great – a special mention goes to Ulrike Haage, who composed the large part of the material with Harth; her programming sapience is a strong point of the disc, constituting an entertaining springboard for all members to unveil their more disguised influences; she also plays a mean piano and writes in styles that respectfully nod to Lars Hollmer and Lindsay Cooper, with an additional touch of tangential sweetness. Look for “Three quarks” with all your browsing power (better still, click on the above link), as this gem was released in 1989 and – unless they’re using it as a gap filler somewhere – your “friends” at the record shop will probably tell you that it never existed.
SABINE VOGEL – Aus dem Fotoalbum eines Pinguins (Creative Sources)
Through different types of flute, electronics and field recordings Sabine Vogel affirms her strong compositional individuality in a truly splendid work, which uses air as a primary ingredient for a series of microscopic analyses of the sonic content of incorporeality. Vogel’s phonetics are made of pretty simple elements that reveal multitudes of tiny facets; her pieces scan the no man’s lands of sounds lacking the consistency of a proper body, bringing out forward-looking harmonics that render their effect similar to being caressed by marine winds or wandering through desertic desolations. Indeed the sea and the rain are an engrossing presence in “Wax and wane”, possibly the finest moment of this conceptual link, a gorgeous piece where flute and bass flute seem to try and determine the geographic coordinates of a lost soul amidst a holy forest of timbral reliquiae and natural lonesomeness. One imagines Vogel with pursed lips and concentrated attitude, captured by her own thought-provoking contemplations while using her instruments for outlandish insufflations of consciousness. Quantifying the value of a record like this is not easy, but there’s a definite quality in Sabine Vogel’s work that’s enough for me to collocate her very high in my recent preferences’ scale. “Aus dem Fotoalbum eines Pinguins” is a pleasing surprise from every point of view, a mature statement which effortlessly nails a few fundamental concepts right into our system. It’s music that avoids collision but also disdains dialogue, fed by its very depth which could be difficult to understand completely. Not for everybody, then – yet approaching masterpiece status.
VOICE_ELECTRONIC DUO – Ved (Monotype)
The Polish duo formed by Zosia Esden and Marcin Dymiter presents us with a fairly light-hearted album wandering around territories where electronica, drum’n’bass, sampling and studio trickery try to observe the world of serious composition with binoculars, in order to steal some of its secrets and put them at work, thus improving the artistic level of otherwise too simple initial concepts. Essentially loop-based, the tracks show a certain balance between interesting sketches and already visited places, featuring sonic elements that I am sincerely amazed to find (come on boys, do we still need the “scratched vinyl” effect as a rhythmic device nowadays?). Yet when the couple locates a sweet spot, they’re really good in using it – like in the obsessively mellifluous, seriously addictive “Numfati” or in the opening title track, minimalism meeting broken machinery through different frequency filtering and various kind of vocal deconstruction. In “W Refleksach”, both Esden and Dymiter sing, the result akin to Japanese pop with Polish lyrics; the same considerations are valid for “Akina”. There are curious interferences: it happens in “Lahaim”, a dissonant clarinet underlining the repetitive vocals at first, then stopping the piece unexpectedly. More a curiosity than a great record, but nice.
VOLONTÈ – Volontè (Taumaturgia)
Free improvisation recorded in La Coruña, Spain in 2007 by a quartet comprising Rafael Mallo (drums, percussion), Roberto Mallo (alto sax), Miguel Prado (guitar, circular saw) and Raúl Garcia (electric violin). The energy level of this long CD (76 minutes – that’s right, about half the duration would have done no damage) oscillates from medium to high for its whole extent, with hints to Borbetomagus-like eruptions (especially in the conclusive track “Selo de aprobación”, a veritable blast-out). Elsewhere the music possesses components tight as much as necessary, letting us maintain enough curiosity a propos of the applied procedures: guitars are either semi-overdriven or barely hit in order for the strings to resonate acidly, the sax is perennially wandering around post-Ayler territories with very few exceptions, the violin will never cause someone to mutter “we want Jean-Luc Ponty” due to a harsh mobbing of stringed common sense and, as far as the drumming is concerned, its sonic appearance can be both lantern-jawed and outrageous, depending on the collective excitement (or lack thereof). In essence this is not a bad album, but certainly it’s not going to be etched on my mind forever.
CARL MICHAEL VON HAUSSWOLFF – Topophonic models (Feld)
Although he’s been working in the drone area for decades, both with his installations and through sheer experiments, Carl Michael Von Hausswolff has always remained pretty extraneous to the roundups of “usual suspects” that normally get mentioned when dealing with psychoacoustic phenomena related to fixed emissions. The music comprised by “Topophonic models” is intended “to function as an audiographic tableaux describing various dystopical and distant contemporary geocivilian sites”; the six tracks are all constituted by a single static chord or wave cluster whose only perceivable movement is the irregular pulsating rhythm born from the adjacent tones, which throws the listener into an instant state of semi-torpor nearing physical numbness. Despite the references to Tony Conrad, Phill Niblock and LaMonte Young, Von Hausswolff’s material is a little less esoteric and more corporeal, the thick fumes of the drones more intoxicating than contributing to levity. This should not be surprising, as this Swedish artist has always maintained a profile similar to a scientist’s, avoiding to join long queues of presumed sonic shamans. What you hear is exactly the object of the discourse: no frills whatsoever, no useless implications, no shallow “fake zen”. It’s enough for me to keep considering him one of the most serious players in the game, this CD being yet another specimen of orbital trance that sounds, for lack of a better word, real.
ALEXANDER VON SCHLIPPENBACH – Broomriding (Psi)
With Rudi Mahall on bass clarinet, Tristan Honsinger on cello and Paul Lovens on percussion you’re absolutely sure about the integrity of the music contained here. Von Schlippenbach needs no trumpeting from me, of course; I see his approach to playing in “Broomriding” as trying to freeze a series of perfect moments to be captured on tape rather than looking for an unreachable total freedom – to which, of course, he comes closer that way. Aren’t rules made to be broken after all? Well – like four Houdinis, everyone here looks for his own set of regulations to be locked in, throwing away the keys in order to be able to get out with the sheer force of their instrumental voice. While Lovens is his usual self, actively participating in spreading a world of percussives all over the recording in a series of unpredictable crazy schemes, the real heros to me are Mahall and Honsinger, whose explorations are so thorough that often I tend to fuse their respective phrasings into unified sentences. Like (just apparently) rough lone islanders, these musicians don’t leave anyone the key to enter their world; maybe they’ll let you find a sketch of a map. You can start from there: if and when you discover some beauty in that territory, it’s all up to your listening ability.
DIMITRI VOUDOURIS – NPFAI.1/Palmos/NPFAI.3/Praxis (Pogus)
A South African composer of Greek birth, Voudouris is interested in the “research of cognitive psycho-acoustic behavioral patterns in humans and the behavior of sound in relationship to continued environmental changes”. Don’t let the composer’s difficult description fool you into thinking about some kind of cerebral pretentiousness, though, as this album contains instead four magnificent examples of his approach, music that’s always challenging and, in many of its expressions, of extraordinary beauty. “NPFAI” stands for “New Possibilities For African Instrument”; the two namesake pieces are electroacoustic studies, one for kundi and m’bira, the other for African marimba. In both cases, Voudouris processes the instrumental sources via computer to originate soundscapes that mix the “percussive and organic” sonic environments generated by these fascinating textures. An extremely individual character comes out of these experiments, which produce hundreds of separated aural events that nevertheless find their unique place in the air once they’re out of the speakers, finally spreading like an indivisible whole; the properties of the main instruments are soon forgotten in favour of a multidirectional modification of our sense of belonging to the very music. “Palmos”, for Hammond organ, oboe and bandoneon, is a wonderful pseudo-static, ever-morphing halo of interacting overtones; Voudouris states that “consciousness itself is a vibration pattern” and I take my hat off to him for two reasons: one, he’s the first artist who confirms what I’ve always believed and two, the awesome radiance of this piece, which really throws us into an ocean of doubts without a clue about the relationships between safe mental harbors and the perennial fear of the unknown. “Praxis” makes great use of a Christian Orthodox Greek male choir (computer processed, too), ending the disc with the most heterogeneous offer, a cross of mournful recollections and radical experimentation that will put many contemporary acousmatic composers under the threat of sounding outdated. Sepulchral lamentations and modified pitches, obtained from a damaged recording of the memorial services for the Croatian genocides held in 1999 in Sofiatown, Johannesburg, work much better as a means of protest than a million words.
M.S.WALDRON / STEVEN STAPLETON / SIGTRYGGUR BERG SIGMARSSON / JIM HAYNES / R.K.FAULHABER – The sleeping moustache (The Helen Scarsdale Agency)
“The sleeping moustache” fuses the wicked talents of five executives in that genre-morphing area that’s usually mentioned as “sonic abstract expressionism”. The names, except for the obscure (at least for me) Faulhaber, are quite famous and really need no introduction, symbols as they are of Nurse With Wound, irr. app. (ext.), Stilluppsteypa, Coelacanth (not to mention Haynes’ ever-inspired writing). The ten tracks revolve exactly around that kind of warped narrative cycle that one would expect from these people, with several truly scintillating moments; as a matter of fact, the album is excellent, even superior to some of the recent NWW work, with a specific reference to the “Angry Eelectric Finger” series (not that one must NECESSARILY compare this record with those ones, but – hey – that’s the penalty you have to pay when you produce such a distinguishable music). I also found some of the most oneirically sinister tracks swimming in the same slimy waters of Andrew Liles’ best hallucinations, with deformed voices and oscillating synthetic/concrete crescendos in constant alternance amidst surprisingly effective changes of scenario. The whole architecture of “The sleeping moustache” is top-notch: ridiculous events, drunken imaginations, serious accidents and poor man’s fragments of pseudo Ursonatas succeed within an impertinent logic of acquiescence to the non-obvious. It is also possible, if one’s careful enough, to determine the single contributions (haha, just kidding – it’s just another illusion). The ingredients are all there: rustling noises, “da-da” stuttering babies, gnomes kidding your suspicious attitude, metal bowing (or is it?), unbearable tension deflated within milliseconds by a burning spike. This is not music that easily accepts descriptions, rather a meeting of mental meltdowns sounding much brighter than your average psychobabble hyped as the “next big thing”. It’s a circumstantial, intelligent and – yes – beautiful release which I strongly recommend to everybody.
JOHN WALL – Cphon (Utterpsalm)
“Cphon” is the latest link in the chain of works by this very inscrutable composer, here featured on piano. Reduced to little more than 20 minutes, Wall’s microsamples are magnificent in their powerful ambiguity – the instrument becomes recognizable for a few segments only about halfway through the piece – provoking instant disorientation and the uncontrollable urge to stand up and understand if those subliminal aural heresies come from the speakers, from your kitchen – or if you finally succumbed to tinnitus. This man’s vari-speed compositional intelligence keeps raising his music to higher degrees of complexity while remaining somehow accessible, also thanks to what Wall calls “fortuitous mistakes” of the softwares he works with. That (barely) human element is what gives “Cphon” the chance to be entirely digested, even by those who don’t know what to expect. Try it once and have your membranes ready to vibrate in reverse mode.
BRENDAN WALLS – Cassia Fistula (Idea Records)
Through the use of frequencies, one can reach altered states of mind; nothing sounds truer when you listen to “Cassia Fistula”, which is an important step towards new frontiers of electronic/computer-based music…even if it’s actually made with home made instruments! Walls shows us his abilities dividing the journey in three parts: the first is an attack to the equilibrium with a resounding, oscillating mass that enters your ears and swims through the brain, morphing into forms crossing between analog synth sounds and random waves. Just more static and sour-sounding is the third section, reminding me of laptop explorations not so far from Kevin Drumm’s latest adventures; but the real highlight has to be the section 2, unstable parallels of pseudo-tranquil sound rainbows running one against the other…joining, fighting, filling each other’s voids. It all brings a dream-like serene feeling, if still pretty dissonant.
BRENDAN WALLS – Outposts (Dom)
Air pollution depends on a lot of factors, the first and foremost being people talking too much. Luckily for us, Brendan Walls talks – and he does it rarely, one would say – only through his music, which in the case of “Outposts” is deeply rooted in a warped world on the edge of sensorial oblivion. Contained by a vinyl album adorned by Douglas Hamilton’s obscure pictures, this suite was composed by the Australian soundscaper entirely on tape (no digital cleaning here) using “just about everything you can imagine”: that includes trumpets, cellos, thumb pianos, guitars, drains, water pipes, birds. Not that you would recognize them, though, if not in a minimal percentage: this is a deeply introspective composition that reaches for an unfamiliar abyss, whose coordinates are not too distant from Christoph Heemann and Andrew Chalk, but resplends in the divergence of its own personality, its spectral atmospheres built upon hazy vistas and mysterious submarine cathedrals. The music, although quite static, reveals a series of layers in which the ambiguity of the sources allows our ears to revel in the whole multiplicity rather than focus on single elements; we’re constantly floating in the middle of a claustrophobic sensation, where faraway hums and buzzes can be detected amidst an ever-drifting background of melting noise and subsonic activity. After his first experiments in “Cassia Fistula”, Walls has been slowly trekking an illuminated course made of shadows and silence; “Outposts” represents an important station of this sonic research.
BRENDAN WALLS / ANDREW CHALK – This growing clearing (Three Poplars)
Any record including these two men must be listened in complete silence and with the highest level of spiritual capacity. I found great peace and felt a strong sense of life’s slow tides while I capitulated to layers upon layers of undescribable, desolate beauty achieved through the alternance of “pianissimo” segments – with just a gentle desert wind lingering in the background – and growing lamentations of infinite vibration of muddy-to-glittering harmonics, which constitute a wonderful deathbed for any bad thought crossing the brain. In this sense, “This growing clearing”‘s second half bears more than a vague similarity with some of the most intense Mirror pieces, as a magnificent grey current is generated by lots of superimposing close intervals of what probably is a cross of guitars and electric devices, but – could it just be my imagination? Fact is, this is a superb album confirming all we already knew about Brendan and Andrew and keeping the lamp of self-analysis and reaction to sound well alive and burning; most of all, it made me think about my existence’s circumstances with a faint smile and the consolatory sensation of something more important to give my heart to – this music deserves it all.
WALTER & SABRINA – We sing for the future (Danny Dark)
Difficult not to remain perplexed at first, fascinated at last by the artistic vision of Walter Cardew and Sabrina (Stephen) Moore, a duo who’s getting a growing exposure in recent years and, based on this 25-minute disc which constitutes this writer’s personal premiere of their work, deservedly so. Walter & Sabrina’s artwork includes old pictures of themselves as kids, modern abstraction and porn imagery, the latter a sort of trademark as far as I could see. The lyrics are beautiful, provided that you don’t ask me about significance: I will always refuse to comment on someone else’s words (too complicated to explain my view here). But what really counts in the final judgement is the quality of the music, which in this release is symbolized by a congruous diversity of scope and the intense focusing on determinate issues of composition that might even be defined staggering, both for sheer number of complexities and the ironic twist that quite often Cardew and Moore apply to the material, splendidly rendered by a “small chamber ensemble” orchestration featuring male and female vocals (at times filtered). The title track, of which the enhanced CD contains a QuickTime video version, is an obvious homage to Cornelius Cardew (Walter’s father), a well-known hymn that gets dismembered and reinterpreted with intelligence to spare, voices and instruments a unique amalgamation of deformation and purity. The subsequent “songs” are an uncontaminated heritage of RIO and “elaborate” progressive (think Henry Cow, Art Bears, Motor Totemist Guild, Lindsay Cooper’s solo production just to assemble a very vague conception) yet there are sections, most notably in “What have we done”, where a Michael Nyman-meets-Slapp Happy feeling appears from nowhere to project the playing towards an unconscious look-ma-no-hands vibe. The record is ended by a brief declamatory piece, Moore’s voice over Cardew’s bells, which only augments an already high degree of rational bewilderment. Substance prevails everywhere.
WEASEL WALTER / KEVIN DRUMM / FRED LONBERG-HOLM – Eruption (Grob)
Do you remember Last Exit, the improvising supergroup with Sharrock, Brotzmann, Shannon Jackson and Laswell? If you do, consider “Eruption” as the crazed continuing of that sound, like everything’s been put on double speed and quadruple rage. Starting from the absolutely great titles – an example being “I released 78.032 different compact discs of improvised music last week (and sold 14)” – you can guess there’s an heartfelt attack to the despot critics deciding what’s OK and what’s not, even in the so-called “free music” jurisdiction. Walter’s drums are omnipresent and amphetaminically delivering all the time, as deviating from the norm as you can get; the cello of Lonberg-Holm and the guitar/noises/effects armada of Drumm constitute a powerful megaphone to all those deaf ears refusing dissonance as a way of life. Lots of fun and energy all over; a nice record, if you ask me.
DAN WARBURTON – A walk through R / A walk through V (Why Not) – A walk through L / A walk through D (Stasisfield) – A walk through M (Conv.net lab)
First things first. Three of these Walks are available for free download (“L”, “D” and “M”) while “R” and “V” originally came out on a long out of print 40-copy edition on Goh Lee Kwang’s Why Not label; email the composer at PTEditor@aol.com if you want them. Warburton recorded these tracks with a portable MiniDisc during his visits to Lytham (Lancashire, UK), St Remeze (Ardeches, France), Vier Bordes (Pyrenees, France), Domecy-sur-le-Vault (Burgundy, France) and Mouthiers Haute Pierre (Doubs, France), hence the titles. We’re in presence of processed environmental assemblages of the finest order, dressed in humble clothings that render them comfortably familiar; the sound quality won’t spell IRCAM, but it’s perfect for the scope of the work. Warburton utilizes a few half-involuntary “recurring themes”: water is captured in different settings, gurgling in flanged hallucinations or in “gentle backwash” mode, while remote vehicles zoom in before you can say “country road”; one really feels like being careful not to be hit by some adolescent Mick Doohan wannabe. Then again, two major presences, the ones that will sound intimate to anyone who spends time or lives far from a big city, namely animals (birds, chickens, summer insects and gorgeous cowbells, necessary to the survival of the nerves in these crazy days of relentless noise) and the omnipresent murmur of the countryside, be it at noon or at night, a silent mantle that hammering workers decide to stretch a bit every once in a while. But they’re kept at safe distance. Children peep in the background, a belltower is like an exclamation point in a wordless conversation. A phone call finds an automated message inviting to “hang up and try again”, the international three-tone signal cloning itself and slowly dying in a moment of decaying minimalism. Miles Davis’ “So what” lurks under the soil somewhere and, naturally, the rustling sounds caused by the protagonist’s steps are heard from time to time – he called them “Walks” for a reason. When “regular” human voices come to the fore in the mix, it’s almost like a heresy. All the materials, I’m told, were duly pitch shifted, re-equalized, reversed but everything sounds just…natural. Warburton is neither the first nor will be the last deciding to cut some segments of his solitary reflections to make them available to an audience, but for sure these beautiful snapshots rank among the best that I’ve heard and should be properly reissued – in a single CD.
DAN WARBURTON / FREDERICK FARRYL GOODWIN – Compendium Maleficarum III (Incunabulum)
One of the incentives that sparkled Dan Warburton’s desire to give up nurturing his baby (the Paris Transatlantic website) was the wish to complete this project. Twenty years in the making, it says, and there’s no reason not to believe it when one realizes about the quantity of details, ideas, changes of scenery – sounds, in a word – that “Compendium” contains. But, I admit having asked myself, who is Mr. Goodwin? A few answers are furnished in “ID”, first track of the CD. After hearing them you’ll probably be aware of the weather conditions in this series of text-sound compositions, which in my case was helpful given this writer’s proverbial rejection of anything dealing with commonly intended poetry, classic or modern. In short, we’re talking about a writer whose verses are as far from romanticism as they come, certainly next to a “maudit” area sprinkled with contemporary insanity, yet often extremely penetrating and lucid. All the texts are printed in the booklet; still, the best listening method lies in enjoying the recital as a whole with Warburton’s music, which is serious stuff. Credited with “sound files, treatments and post-production” besides violin and piano, the adoptive Parisian patiently seamed a fascinating patchwork where the timbral differences between the reciting voices are at times further enhanced by pitch alterations and environmental gradations, rendering them autistic, near-to-dissipating, or just underlining pseudo-normality with a modicum of strange ambience. That wouldn’t be enough without the instrumental mirror, which reflects the many and one direction previously indicated by the principal as his own expressive personality. The game of contrasts is at times harsh – acid disco-rock in “Hells Angels In A Bar”, calliope-like organ in “The Cardinal”, pure EAI rarefaction in the magnificent “Dr. Death” (dedicated “to Dan” by Goodwin). The half ecstatic, half heartbreaking minimal background in “Ophelia” is alone worthy of a hats off. Several illustrious contributors lent their sensitiveness but a special mention must be made for Pascal Battus, Frederic Blondy, Bertrand Gauguet and Jean-Luc Guionnet, whose work in this context is nothing short of outstanding. In essence, this collection unfolds and evolves similarly to a difficult life, sadness and solitude prevailing upon joy. Even the track succession seems to follow a “birth-movement-trouble-decay” cycle; in fact, the disc ends with the most introvert pieces, comparable to the problematic exhalations of a tired old body, only electric hum or a lone synthetic drone underlining the words. It’s fundamentally a “headphone record”, lots of barely visible layers revealing small grains of profoundness. Forget Nurse With Wound, to which I already saw comparisons around the web: “Compendium” is a unique accomplishment that needs your utmost dedication, likely to become a little piece of cult. Don’t stop in front of an only apparent scarce penetrability; meaningfulness is what does count.
ALEX WARD / LUKE BARLOW / SIMON FELL / STEVE NOBLE – Help point (Copepod)
Endowed with sharp interactivity and instant productiveness, this quartet led by clarinettist virtuoso Alex Ward hammers out many angles of contemporary improvisation’s paraphernalia through its serious approach to polyvalent timbral ecosystems. Filthily tweaking an Oberheim and a Rhodes piano, Luke Barlow machinates through many and one intricacies, creating a fertilizing substratum of sonic working knowledge, while Simon Fell’s maximizing bass playing is a spectacle in itself, as smoothness and mystery seem to be the source of numerous silent insurgences against corporative sight-readings of intellectualist commonplaces. Steve Noble, once drummer for Rip Rig And Panic, sounds articulate and hungry, his technique a picture of dynamic prowess which is totally functional in this mature four-way encounter; on top of everything, Ward’s incisive comunicativeness delivers his instrument from the humdrum indecencies of untrained pretenders while establishing his authoritative voice as one of the most brilliant in the free-for-all world of phoney immaterialism.
UTE WASSERMANN – Birdtalking (Radio Bremen)
When dealing with female interpreters of the art of advanced vocalism, four personal favourites come to mind: Diamanda Galàs, Meredith Monk, Shelley Hirsch and – more recently – Non Credo’s Kira Vollman. I’m afraid that I’ll have to add a fifth chair at the table. I had already met Ute Wassermann in a great CD on Creative Sources, “Kunststoff”, a duo with trumpet player Birgit Ulher; yet, “Birdtalking” is one of those records that immediately raise all aerials, a top-rank effort in which a single talent is enough to carry the heaviest of weights, namely maintaining the artistic level of almost one hour of music constantly high throughout. These nine tracks were recorded in 2004; Wassermann’s voice was captured alone or multitracked, her excellent use of extended techniques including both traditional and avantgarde derivations (yodel, throat-tremolo, harmonic singing) with just a modicum of processing in some of the improvisations (an example being “Multipel” I and II, where reverberation contributes to the singer sounding like a night bird, a siren, a monster and the ocean at one and the same time). These pieces could at times be perceived as fragments of haunted spirituality but they possess rigour and technical wholeness, giving us a chance to compare them with the most extraordinary performances of academic experimentation. The concepts expressed by Wassermann are in a way ephemeral inasmuch as they appear like sheer visions; yet an overall sense of accomplishment permeates the listening process, which immediately becomes an open-eyed distinction between reality and a virtual, almost otherworldly perfection that never ceases to amaze our ears.
UTE WASSERMANN / BIRGIT ULHER – Kunststoff (Creative Sources)
The almost absurd expansibility of Ute Wassermann’s voice is a rehabilitating process for the ears; this duo with trumpeter Birgit Ulher is a major statement in the artistic curricula of both. Apparently flippant, rarely querulous, Ute works the hidden corners of guttural domestication, nattering with steady intelligence and technical committment to create a hybrid instrument that mocks electronic oscillations and intramural arguments, all the while keeping a firm grip over a perfect coordination of oddity and hermetism. This impression is reinforced by a splendid performance by Birgit, who paces the distance between the timbres with a sapient command of the trumpet’s short-tempered outbursts, carefully alternating sweet spots and rancid spurious vibrations to find the correct decoding message needed to countermeasure Wassermann’s speculations. This is an astounding release, a special treatment for improvisation lovers, a fresh hallucination revealing itself as truth.
UTE WASSERMANN / RICHARD BARRETT – Pollen (Creative Sources)
Observing the possibilities of communication and correlation between voice and electronics – the means utilized by Wassermann and Barrett for “Pollen” – is likely to establish new levels of anxiousness if what one expects is just a regular polysource conversation. The extraordinarily wide spectrum of sonorities that this couple is able to produce is at one and the same time spectacular and hardly comprehensible, just like those heterogeneous scientific phenomena watched on Discovery that leave us intrigued but still totally ignorant at the end of the program. Sequences of dissected timbres, quirky outbursts of enthusiastic logorrhoea and clamorous outranging by Wassermann’s voice form a monstrous patchwork of unpredictability that won’t sound extraneous to those who already familiarized with the vocalist’s jargon, which also includes psychotic birds and demented sopranos in illusory trips to omniscience. Barrett’s recordings with Furt possess the same fragmented character, yet this collaboration rounds his sonic complexities quite a bit by introducing a give-and-take between humanity and machinery that specifies every event as a sum of trauma, disbelief and sarcasm. Definitely uneasy to digest if one lacks the proper groundwork, “Pollen” is in any case a splendid demonstration of evolutive acceleration, a testament to Wassermann and Barrett’s obstinate refusal of the first results during their continuous tries to wreck the barriers that separate composition and improvisation, mostly in favour of the latter but with a perceptible strategy within the apparent mess.
MARK WASTELL – Caressed on the brow by unseen hands (L’innomable)
Mark Wastell assembled an 11-piece consort (himself, Tetuzi Akiyama, Rhodri Davies, Benedict Drew, Michael Duch, Graham Halliwell, Paul Hood, Annette Krebs, Mattin, Andrea Neumann, Nishide Takehiro) and chose a beautiful title for this short exhalation of painful quietness, recorded in a room where instrumental voices blur their echoes until they become a single entity. It all starts with sparse indecisions and calculated yet unfinished movements, the musicians exploring silence only to break it with almost undetectable ripples of indetermination. After a while, the small electroacoustic creature stabilizes its biorhythms by excluding the percussive aspect almost entirely, except for string plucking and some muffled thud. Feedback and enigmatic resonance become the guidelines in a succession of involuntary strategies culminating with the restoration of more irregular, noisier factors around the 20-minute mark. The “play-with-others’-shadow” game of subtraction amidst a reticent, slightly broken collective composure lingers on, leaving all our perceptive corridors with their doors ajar; the final minute registers a terminal growth of intensity, the signature of a fine blend of talents gathered under the same aura.
MARK WASTELL – Come crimson rays (Kning Disk)
Third and last instalment of a series of solo tam tam albums – the previous parts being the two “Vibra” volumes – “Come crimson rays” symbolizes one of those instances in which I’m truly at a loss for helpful words to describe what should be considered more the extension of a state of mind, or a physical aid, than sheer music. Wastell used a 32-inch Paiste to record three movements of progressively diminishing length (the first and the third gravitating around the sub-bass area, the second with a slight opening of the frequencies towards the low-to-medium range) which the human ear, if aptly trained to this kind of emission, receive as “presence” rather than “notes”. A few barely detectable touches are enough to transform the surrounding space into a container of curative throbs whose vibrating patterns change according to the position of our head while slowly pacing the place, just like when visiting an installation. Walls and roof contribute to a continuous rebound of these humming, yet impalpable entities. If you’re sealed into a room the whole could even generate a sort of aural “oppression” which – if you ask me – is wonderful, as one feels like being invaded by that particular sense of displacement which doesn’t pretend to be the product of a rite but whose grace is able to lift a body up, if only for a few moments. Trying to mix the sounds generated by Wastell with the ones that the universe lets loose randomly produces great results, should we accidentally find the right balance among the parts; in one of my sessions, the pairing between the gong’s unearthly rumble and a light rain at one point was just perfect. Whatever side one looks at it, “Come crimson rays” is required listening.
CHRIS WATSON / BJ NILSEN – Storm (Touch)
This CD is the result of six years of recordings that Watson and Nilsen made on the coastlines of North Sea and Scandinavia in order to satisfy their “mutual interests in the rhythms and music created when the elements combine over land and out to sea”. The wind’s strength, the heavy rain, the impressive roar of the billows (which becomes even scarier when one reads Nilsen’s notes about his “Austrvegr” track) are obviously the most striking elements of the disc, being alternated with different environmental situations such as a sea cave where Watson recorded a segment of “No man’s land”, a place where what he calls “siren songs” often sounds like a walrus in heat. I must admit that I’m partial to this kind of audio documentary, as both sea and wind have been an important part of my development and I perceive their voices as utterly familiar. But the high-quality recording standards which these artists have grown us accustomed to make sure that “Storm” is a compelling album for just anyone who owns the “inner ear” that renders the shrieks of a seagull, the gurgling of water and the rumble of a thunder all symbols of that undeterred resolution allowing us to resist in the worst moments of our existence. A storm can make you feel like counting for nothing, but its astonishing effects on the psyche remain wonderful.
DAVID WATSON – Throats (Ecstatic Peace)
One of the most unjustly overlooked protagonists of New York’s avant scene is David Watson, a New Zealander who specializes in finding new contexts and timbral connections for his current main instrument – the highland pipes – which he adopted after his training as a guitarist. Having collaborated with more or less everyone – how about Sharp, Otomo, Rose, Zorn, Chadbourne, Marclay and Sonic Youth as appetizers? – Watson has not been very prolific as far as records are concerned, but what I heard was truly excellent, his “Skirl” on the Avant label containing several wonderful moments. “Throats” is a collection of fourteen pieces that exploit the various aspects of bagpipe resonance, strictly without electronics except a fuzz box in a short segment. The results are always well over the “interesting” mark and at times literally stunning, as the composer’s methodical treatment of bagpipe tones generates intense frequency beatings and huge clouds of piercing harmonics, which at a good volume could alert the army from your bordering region to prepare to battle. There are also more introverted excursions through the instrument’s viscera in pieces whose name (“Pneumothorax”, “Trachea”, “Pleural”) represents the best indication of the wheezing and hissing emissions we hear. Three guests – Shelley Hirsch, Makigami Koichi and Makigami Ayako – help Watson with voice and jaw harp in a few tracks, the outcome highly evocative and emotional. In particular, Koichi’s throat harmonics are a thing of beauty, constituting an important element of the most intense music heard in the CD, and justifying its title in full. Another reason to declare “Throats” worth of a good try.
DAVID WATSON – Fingering an idea (XI)
Great to see more music by this composer seeing the light in a relatively short span after “Throats” (Ecstatic Peace!). Divided onto two CDs, respectively called “Dexter” and “Sinister”, we get about 72 minutes of highland bagpipe material from 2004-2005 and 45 minutes of guitar improvisations (solo and superimposed) rescued from a 1987 cassette. The first impression is one of enjoying separate albums, but the artist’s interest in the fascinating phenomena deriving from different kinds of resonance places these works under the same umbrella. Listening to Watson’s guitars, it’s obvious how the tuning peculiarities affect the result in terms of clashing overtones and wavering harmonics, as both on the acoustic and the electric instrument he looks for those spots where griminess and sparkle coalesce into ravishment, notes and chords delivered with the calm composure of a master whose control on spacing and silence allows the vibration to walk its full path and gain significance with the passage of time. One of Watson’s declared influences is Cecil Taylor, yet it’s hard to realize while bewitched by these deceptively simple concepts, which will surely be appreciated by fans of Thurston Moore, Elliott Sharp, Fred Frith and whoever is convinced that EADGBE is by now a little stale. The bagpipe tracks were played by Watson with the help of Matthew Welch, Michael Mahoney, Brendan O’Rourke, Rob Brazius and Richard Baughman; needless to say, they constitute pure joy for the ones who love getting their skull set in “constant quaking” mode by the fight of adjacent frequencies (there must be a reason if Phill Niblock was the encourager of this release…). Those upper partial shifts, continuous drones and repetitive figurations of layered pipes incapacitate nervousness, transforming us in a thoroughly vibrating unit that can’t feel no fear or suspicion while being pervaded, strained and finally swallowed by a gorgeous mass of blaring Bs that exalt psychophysical activities. In all probability, “Fingering an idea” is David Watson’s best outing to date, definitely not to be missed.
TREVOR WATTS / JAMIE HARRIS – Ancestry (Entropy Stereo)
In 1999 Trevor Watts formed the Celebration Band, of which Jamie Harris was a member. In 2002 the couple started to work as a duo, and things went on pretty well since. The saxophonist has always grown interested in music with a strong rhythmic foundation – he’s been putting several ensembles together to second this necessity – thus a record like “Ancestry” follows exactly those coordinates. All the pieces in the album contain solid linear concepts layered upon an assortment of patterns and pulses whose influence range from African drumming to Arabic composed metres, the whole played by the percussionist on an array of different instruments (my ears might be failing, but some of the most intriguing sounds seems to come from a darbouka – belly dancing, anyone?). Watts’ timbre is spectacular, muscular without concessions to mushiness, the melodic foliage of his creations abundant if a little similar from one place to another. Harris is a good companion for this venture, perfectly at ease with whatever the sax proposes while countering with subtle variations and mannish socks when it’s needed. An outing that confirms the value of its participants, although not adding anything in particular to what we already knew.
CHRISTIAN WEBER – Osaka solo (Self Release)
“Osaka solo” is a 3-inch CD containing a 18-minute recording of a March 2006 performance by double bassist Weber at Arts Aporia (you know the city). After hearing the noise of steps and a little background buzz and voices, we’re left with Weber conjuring up scraping sounds that made me think to a heavy metallic object dragged all over the floor, and I suspect that it’s his very bass doing the introductions. About seven minutes into the disc, silence returns (well, almost) only to be ruptured by the subtlest harmonics that a human performer can elicit from an arcoed string, a wheeze of weak light that after a few more minutes is replaced by an overwhelming mantric growl whose fierceness becomes stronger and stronger in what’s without a doubt the most memorable part of the disc. Calm is finally restored, with a few moments of conclusive hisses amidst distant chatter by the few visitors that suffer from attention deficit. Although very essential in its scheme, this is a nice appetizer.
BARRY WEISBLAT / ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO / ERNESTO RODRIGUES – Diafon (Creative Sources)
“Diafon” is played on electronics, pick-ups (on turntable or not), violin and objects, its shredding electric discharges perfectly balanced by sick winds of microsonic currents howling their nasty aridity in the desolation of a desert. A handful of occasional silences subdivides a single trip to environments where everything that could be described as “luscious” is totally banned; Barry, Alfredo and Ernesto look for an imaginary aqueduct with every switch they flick, yet they only keep finding corpses of significance and remains of analytical knowledge. What emerges at the end is a new form of fossil energy, a kind of low-key science thanks to which surviving in the poorest mental condition becomes easier and – in some instance – desirable. The narrow way to the decongestion of the ears this time leads right into a strident contrast of bleached beauty and noisy consciousness.
MATTHEW WELCH / CRAIG COLORUSSO – Rusted breath quiet hands (Muud)
A strange record – not since this music is “strange” per se (it is indeed quite simply structured, serene, useful for meditative applications in a way) but because its originators come from experiences that didn’t let intuit this meshing of cleanness and consonance. Alto saxophonist and composer Welch has been a student of Barry Truax, Rodney Sharman, Alvin Lucier and Anthony Braxton, some of his work already released by Tzadik (2005’s “Dream Tigers”), while Colorusso is a self-defined “musician, composer, improviser, dancer and sculptor” and a lover of “loud distorted guitar driven music” who “found himself in one too many bars” at one point. He has toured with China Pig, Olive Grain and Diving Bell (all unknown to this still very ignorant reviewer). After such a pair of curricula, here’s a disc with two long, slow tracks: the first features beautiful drones by Colorusso, over which Welch holds tones and lays Celtic-influenced phrases, the second – even more tranquilizing – is built upon peaceful sax melodies and rather elementary arpeggios. There’s no trace of twist, no deviation from the consonant path, and today the sun is shining beautifully. So did I like this album? Yes, I did. The duo’s concentrated ingenuousness, Colorusso’s alluring repetitions, the corpulent timbre of Welch’s alto – it all clicked at the right moment. It happens even to the evil ones.
DAVID WELLS – Drone works #9 (Twenty Hertz)
Fluctuations of electronic organisms, strange ear vibrations, caressing frequencies determining their own shape: it’s all contained in David Wells’ contribution to the growing (both in number and in quality) series of drone EPs by Paul Bradley’s label. Wells shows his deep commitment to meditative washes of unprecedented imagery, pushing the intensity accelerator only that necessary bit to escape intermediate states; his music works at sky-high levels of evocation, particularly in the final segment where there is a clear connection between the sound of waves and the blurred sea shore cover picture. Everything here is pleasingly adorned with untroubled melancholy.
DAVID WELLS – Op.2 (Siridisc)
Wells is one of those (few) drone artists who, even if their music does not represent a quantum leap forward, give me the idea of being serious enough to be followed with all the due attention. This album’s first – and best – movement was originally released ad “Drone works #9″ on Twenty Hertz. The remaining pieces are solid, almost immobile blocks of granular materials and environmental sounds, a pleasing accompaniment for pondering about things. The infinite overdriven guitar of “2.2″ elicits frequency beatings while evoking rocky mountain roads to powerful monochromatic vistas; the last ten minutes of “2.3″ seem to picture the unpredictable movements of fireflies in a damp night. As I told before, nothing really new, but the whole is well conceived and functional; plus, the sounds of rain storms and sea waves are, in this case, a welcome compositional touch that must not be confused with the New Age idiocies we’re constantly bombed with, even in records by presumed “more serious” button-pushers. If Wells just worked a little more on the different planimetries of his strata, I’m sure he would come out with something truly outstanding; that said, this CD is a nice business card to know his music a little better.
DAVID WELLS – Efegin (The Locus Of)
A while back, The Infant Cycle’s Jim De Jong published a 3-inch named “Ephedrin Bird Samba” on this very label (at that time The Locus Of Assemblage). In 2007, David Wells took some source material from that record to construct this gorgeous drone piece, among the best in this series. Fans of Nurse With Wound circa “Soliloquy for Lilith”, irr. app. (ext.) and the hypnotically-oriented facet of Andrew Liles should already have their aerials raised way up, as this is one of those inscrutable low-frequency cathedrals that needs a large ambience to resonate in all its beauty, hums and moans fluttering around our head as we pace the room, changing shape and consistence. It starts that way and it ends as such, too, with only a modicum of change – a sort of restart about 10 minutes into the track, a cricket-like sound appearing right before the end and remaining in place after the whole is finished. Just wonderful and somehow inevitable, like the thought of a concretely present dark age of human awareness in a bad weathered day. Repeat, repeat, repeat – ad infinitum.
DAVID WELLS / PAUL BRADLEY – Op.5 / Heart of Embra (Twenty Hertz)
There are times in which I silently damn the small format CDs like this very one, especially when the music they contain stands on such a level of excellence. “Op.5″ by Wells is a haunting piece made of ethereal droning and economy of movement; imagine David Jackman’s buzzsaw metal resonance after a Valium treatment submerged by the shadows of nocturnal sensitiveness during ten minutes of pure bliss. Bradley confirms with “Heart of Embra” his current magic moment with an atypical (for him) scheme-free acousmatic presentation of forms, pictures, drones and found sounds, at times slightly blemished by a little hiss and distortion, while the scenery changes quite frequently, with talking people and room/external noise acting as a counterbalance to Paul’s customary slow spirals. Both compositions are a short lesson in attentive listening, making an eventual full-length album of similar materials quite desirable.
FELIX WERDER – The tempest (Pogus)
Referring to the less than pristine audio standards of parts of this CD, which was made by retrieving the original LPs since the master tapes went missing, Warren Burt writes “The quality of the works themselves will, hopefully, shine through, regardless of whatever technical flaws remain”. Not a truer word. Australian, but born in Berlin in 1922, Felix Werder is one of the too many symbols of stupid ostracism against artists whose vision is probably a little too advanced when compared to average expectations and faculties. The four compositions presented here demonstrate that boundaries are there to be corroded, and genres should not even exist. Werder, to this day active both as a composer and private teacher, has always been at home with an incredible number of musical languages that include electronics (he considers selling his VCS3 synthesizer “one of the worst mistakes I ever made”), jazz, aleatory and symphonic music. This is pretty evident in “Banker”, in which an electric guitar’s atonal phrasing finds its way through synthetic sounds and unpredictable percussive surges that transcend any meaning. “The tempest”, named after Giorgione’s picture “Tempesta”, is an ungovernable dissonant patchwork realized at Melbourne University, a study in contrasting dynamics and surprising eruptions that I didn’t find too distant from the less easily understandable ramifications of another maverick, Roland Kayn, with whom Werder divides the absolute refractoriness to categorization. Here, more than anywhere else, his creativity results endowed with pungent irony, corroborated by a classy anarchy that renders his sound absolutely unique. “Oscussion” is a live recording of a strange performance for synthesizers and percussion, which fuses videogame craziness ante litteram, spatial randomness and Edgard Varese-like rampageous outbursts amidst brief periods of relative tranquillity. The album is closed by the most recent piece (1992) V/Line for computer: orchestral samples that today sound “fabulously horrible” in their fake seriousness ornament a supremely disrespectful “score”, blemished by discharges of white noise every once in a while. Peculiar stuff until the very end in another Pogus winner.
WE’RE BREAKING UP – Here and above (TwoThousandAnd)
The sense of menace this music brings while you listen is perfectly captured in the photo contained by the CD cover, where a pre-storm sky surrounds an ugly building. “Here and above” is made of two long tracks where electricity, white noise, ultra-red distortion, granular pulse and interferences of any kind get mixed in a rusty cauldron. This is a record that not only will test your speakers hard but will also get you scared of turning on your TV or drying your hair – you’d think some monstrous energetic mass would crawl into your sets, ready to come out like the killing blob from cables and outlets. Michael Rodgers, the mind after this hellish miasma (Kevin Drumm reference intended) enters the pantheon of “harmonic noise” composers with a bang, as far as I’m concerned: yes, we’re breaking up, and fear never sounded more attractive than this. P.S. I swear this is true: less than one minute before the CD’s end, while I was writing the last words, a slight electric power low had the CD player interrupted after a discharge – gasp!
NUSH WERCHOWSKA / MATHIAS PONTEVIA / HEDDY BOUBAKER – Glotosifres (Creative Sources)
This piano/drums/alto sax trio is both one of the shortest (about 29 minutes) and less “silent” releases by Ernesto Rodrigues’ label. Innocent in its abandon of rules, yet pretty dirty as far as sonic articulation is concerned, “Glotosifres”‘ palette ranges from not-too-clangorous free jazz to “percussive strumming” – not only on drums but on piano’s strings and various parts, too – which made me think about Z’EV during his most “tranquil” moments. No hint to any kind of phraseology, only a tendency to rumble and scrape, very far from sheer droning but tending to rawer structures of disorder and pre-chaos. Underneath a thick cloth of primordial instinct lies some measure of elaboration that nevertheless remains in the obscurity of a big uncontrollable buzz; like a blurred glimpse of who-knows-what, in the space of a moment this music has come and gone.
WERKBUND – Weit Draussen (Walter Ulbricht Schallfolien)
To this day, the Werkbund project remains one of the most enigmatic ones of the last 20 years or so, a fact confirmed by the high prices of its early albums in the online auctions. “Weit Draussen” is built around the usual coordinates: no explanations or theories, only comfortless repetitive music that’s inscrutable and fascinating at one and the same time. The first side of this vinyl album follows the dynamics of elaboration in three tracks comprising degradations, luminescences, robotic biorhythms and well-stabilized balance between electronic and processed sources that add a sort of quasi-human touch, except in the glacial (!) “Unter kaltem Licht”. The B side consists of a gloomy, obscure suite called “Grau das Meer, schwarz die Inseln” where no light is ever visible in a nebulous atmosphere allowing no way out, the music correlated to a subconscious state where definitions of details and cerebral focus are left out of the context. All things considered, give me Werkbund over the 95% of current “dark electronica” names any time; there’s real substance here, not hot-aired ambient balloons with a 50-second reverb.
RICH WEST – Bedouin hornbook (pfMENTUM)
Though not devoid of fun, “Bedouin hornbook” is played with impassible rigour even in its improvised sections. Any visible influence is rinsed out with a millimetric sense of order; the optimization of each instrument’s peculiarity in marching band-styled pieces or complex counterpoints is this record’s best asset. Perpetrators of various genre-destroying juxtapositions, Chris Heenan (reeds), Bruce Friedman (trumpet), Jeremy Drake (guitar), Scot Ray (tuba) and Rich West (drums) collectively sniff the air to furbish their own sound without false starts or potshotting, excluding undertones from their vocabulary in order to avoid the doldrums of aural “no-way-outness”. Instead, Rich West’s quintet shoulders boredom away through spiky meetings of timbral niceties, managing to raise attention levels without niggling.
RICH WEST – Heavenly breakfast (pfMENTUM)
Lively, ironic, nicely executed music from a quintet including leader Rich West (drums, accordion), Bruce Friedman (trumpet), Lynn Johnston (sax, clarinet), Emily Beezhold (electric piano, Korg MS 2000 synthesizer) and Dan Krimm (electric bass). One expects a cross of technical dexterity and sarcasm just by reading West’s comments about the tracks, not to mention titles such as “A performer’s objective is to put everyone to sleep” or “Le petomane”. But the simple, yet very effective Stravinsky-tinged themes surrounded by gruelling improvisational sketches, the quest for non-conventional rhythmic patterns in constant superimposition, the pensive piano chords adding a sort of nostalgic aura to the furious exchanges of epithets between Friedman and Johnston, all of the above is serious musicianship, not some kind of joke for dilettantes. Without jumping the fences of acceptable complexity, West’s compositions offer intelligent wit in abundant doses, with a few welcome pinches of boisterous fun that, like the carved smile in a Halloween pumpkin, sounds wickedly malicious in its just apparent ingenuity.
VERYAN WESTON – Tessellations for Luthéal piano (Emanem)
The Luthéal piano is a pretty ancient rare instrument that can change its timbral character to sound like an harpsichord or a harp through mechanisms put into action by the performer; the liner notes contain a detailed history of this incredible keyboard. Veryan Weston recorded this extremely beautiful “composition for improviser” in March 2003, his stupendous technique at the total service of the concept of tessellation. I will try not to be overly hyperbolic on this music, nevertheless it’s difficult not being left breathless by a complex instrumental organization which sounds like if Cecil Taylor, Keith Tippett and Conlon Nancarrow had been fused into a monster with twenty-plus digits. And what’s more, the music is so perfectly specular, mathematically perfect and harmonically enjoyable, yet full of “out-of-context” little spirals just adding to the total that one won’t even need that well-worn degree in composition (or free improvisation, for that matter) to understand that Weston has given us the gift of another stunning record.
VERYAN WESTON / JOHN EDWARDS / MARK SANDERS – Gateway to Vienna (Emanem)
In this 2-disc set, the Weston/Edwards/Sanders trio is featured both in studio and live setting, with the same scintillating results; five of the six “Gateway” tracks, recorded at the namesake facilities in London, are orchestrated articulations splintered into unembodied molecules of kindling musicianship while “Gateway 5″ is a splendid acoustic meditation. The murmurous fecundity of John Edwards’ playing is the most impressive colour of the first record: he mainly relegates gossamer weaving to other occasions, using the full body resonance of his bass, dividing the tough bread of pure artistry with Weston’s spastic reincarnations of Monkian phraseologies, both looking for salubrious contrapuntal oxygen; meanwhile, Sanders’ impassible extemporizations of spanking jauntiness keep up the overall pulse, so that his percussive arsenal sounds like a termitarium on fire. The live episode, recorded – you guess it – in Vienna, discloses more unresolved tensions in a music that springs from the rejuvenating collision of styles ranging from Cecil Taylor’s trios to the collectedness of 70′s English jazz. Veryan, John and Mark fuse their spirits throughout, almost giving up their distinct traits to create an acoustic mainframe in an unexplored sonic underwood; here, varieties and species are generated by the dozen, with the trio ready to systematize even the most accidental event without losing immediacy and ability in freehand drawing.
KENNY WHEELER – Dream sequence (Psi)
Sometimes I get struck by something so particularly deserving I can’t possibly adapt a description to it. “Dream sequence” is one of those moments: Wheeler’s a man of few words and high musical intelligence, this record being a respectful meeting of friends, all expressing articulated sensations, nevertheless framed in lines of formal simplicity. Kenny’s flugelhorn is one of the most recognizable voices on the scene but what really counts is his gift for composing pieces halfway through chamber music and straight jazz where the overall sound is adorned by a faint light, like when one’s thinking to his past with a smile in his mind. Tony Levin’s drumming is practically perfect; the flute and alto sax of Ray Warleigh come out as co-protagonists of this material, infusing the air with melodies springing out effortlessly, never over-thought. The whole project is a bridge to the heart of the listeners: for sure they can expect a better day after lending their ears to this bunch of great tracks played by six serious gentlemen.
KENNY WHEELER – Song for someone (Psi)
Kenny Wheeler’s dedication to perfecting the “chamber jazz” format has always been extremely evident; this excellent recording from 1973 is the right example. Kenny chose the musicians first, then set the compositions around them; the outcome is pretty classic Wheeler nevertheless. There’s a typical aura permeating his music, mostly in horn and vocal scores, which is his most beautiful signature – it brings memories from my childhood’s first contacts with orchestral settings, all the while evidencing a very good balance between written and improvised parts. One could feel a tiny bit of thematic indulgence sometimes but there’s no doubt about seriousness and coherence, virtues this musician maintained throughout his artistic life, especially when wearing the composer’s clothes. Norma Winstone’s vocals add a gentle touch of sapience whenever she enters the picture; the rest of the greats involved (among them, Evan Parker, Malcolm Griffiths, Tony Oxley, John Taylor, Mike Osborne, Derek Bailey) surely do a great work of bringing out the peculiarities of Wheeler’s imagination. It goes without saying this is another welcome addition to Psi’s “diamonds saved from the dust” line of assemblage.
SIMON WHETHAM – Ascension_Suspension (Entr’acte)
Beautiful sounds come from the most unimaginable things and places, but it takes a couple of smart ears to catch them and create something unique. Simon Whetham invented this enthralling acousmatic experience by “minimally processing” the noises coming from the cable cars in the French mountains of the Portes Du Soleil region. All the components of this system, “the air, the wheels and cogs, the motors (…)” contribute to a fairly splendid documentary which, although born amidst the breathtaking silences of high altitudes, at times is just like a marine (lunar?) patchwork of muffled frequencies, muted voices and tolling bells (enriched in the “right” moments by occasional bird chirping) that later on mutates and evolves into a gently industrial elegy (check the fourth movement as an example) where human presence could very well be considered as unnecessary. In that sense, the massive, long-reverberating thuds closing the CD are heartstopping, almost to symbolize the inadequacy of the beings compared to natural phenomena.
WHITEBASS – Depth of field (Mystery Sea)
Clinton Watkins, from New Zealand, is the deus ex machina moving the spectacular subsonic conjugations that fill the whole “Depth of field”; under the Whitebass moniker, Watkins put us in contemplative state right after the very first moments of listening. Reduced mobility, relaxed nerves and suddenly…no thoughts whatsoever, a total void just slightly broken by some gestural normality. The foggy stoutness of impressive infrasounds create an inverse feedback with silence, revealing itself piece by piece in a seductive game of pushing forward what we could never be able to speak about, yet still try to, sounding so incredibly superficial every time. Now it’s the drone itself that does the speaking: its purposeless defiance to our heartbeat exists only as a relative perfection in the imaginary scaffolding of this unsoiled vertigo. This music passes like clouds, reminding us not to be too optimist about our capacity of controlling life’s scenarios.
MARK WHITECAGE & HIS VIRTUAL COMBO – Ducks on acid (Acoustics)
Showing once again his technical prowess and his penchant for out of ordinary ideas, Mark Whitecage uses mostly his clarinet and a self-built array of guitar pedals and delays to create beautiful (and also funny) moments of self absorption, sometimes inserting his voice as a source. Mark’s “trip” is not something running too fast or needing enormous amounts of concentration to be perfectly enjoyed; on the contrary, his constructions explore the landscapes of semi-dissonant superimpositions without losing sense and perception, not even for a moment. Sometimes near to minimalism, “Ducks on acid”‘s general sound is never too obstinate; it leaves open doors to be fully understood and is relaxing enough to listeners willing to pick records made by serious musicians instead of mainstream blubbery.
MARK WHITECAGE & THE BI-COASTAL ORCHESTRA – BushWacked (Acoustics)
“BushWacked” is a spoken opera which was developed from a 1990 namesake piece by the leader, who writes “…all I did was collect the written evidence of the lies and sheer incompetence of the Bush crime family, give everyone a copy and let them each choose what they wanted to say”. Apart from the obvious sociopolitical implications of the lyrics, the “jazz-and-much-more” raging authority unleashed by Whitecage (alto sax, clarinet) Scott Steele (guitar) Bill Larimer (piano) Rozanne Levine (alto & soprano clarinet) and Rober Mahaffay (drums) will curl up your toes: a show-stopping virtuosity does not waste an ounce of the pulsating conceptual energy of the group, whose components encapsulate hundreds of different artistic experiences, throwing them against the often disappointing aesthetics of today’s swing/jazz realities with sardonic smiles and thoroughly irreverent musicianship. Archie Shepp and ragtime, Frank Zappa and off-Broadway, anarchy and democracy: it’s all here for your mental and auditive pleasure – and your radio won’t play it for sure.
TODD WHITMAN / JACK WRIGHT – Twist and thrall (Spring Garden Music)
Groove? What groove? Getting their hands on every conceivable kind of saxophone, Whitman and Wright assume that everyone’s so musically evolved to be able to accept their simultaneous soliloquies without flinching. Not so; the way I see it, this music is fit for multi-purpose brains whose sequential circuits work differently from, say, most people attending jazz clubs and spending hours oscillating their heads to a slow swing while sipping cognac. Unannounced deviations, hissing disturbances and contrapted litigations are continuously produced by this fabulous duo, which sustains almost 70 minutes of difficult fantasies and abundant irony in most satisfactory fashion, their instruments finding new ways for total liberation while preserving what Wright puts best on the cover notes: “I play for fun, because that’s where more life is”. Cheers, guys – and thanks for avoiding me another helping of “Round midnight”.
PIERS WHYTE – Piers Whyte (Ache)
Contrarily to what one may think after a few minutes into “Forest fire demo”, a mass of distorted glitchzapping like millions around, Piers Whyte is NOT your average teenage laptopper. There are at least two tracks – “Waxing sentimental” and “Spring, 04″ – that can stand head up with some of the best acousmatic tension/release present in composers like Christoph Heemann or Jim O’Rourke; environmental sources keep their intrinsic elemental significance, mixing beautifully with cascading abstractions of background radiance and heartwarming manipulations of children’s voices resulting in magnificent psychedelic chants. Other sections show Whyte in noisier clothes: “Pioggia viola” – italian for “violet rain” or even “purple rain” – vivisects a live event’s audience, capturing hisses and yelps among a mess of rock cliches (if it’s fragments of Prince, given the title, I could not guess) which become completely triturated in a pandemonium of distortion. If Piers keep working on his compositional skills he’ll soon be a force to be reckoned, as his arguments are pretty solid in a style that comes with an “in your face” legitimate disposition.
SIMON WICKHAM-SMITH – Love & Lamentation (Pogus)
Born in 1968, Simon Wickham-Smith is quite an interesting figure. Graduated in English literature, he widened a keenness for recording strange ideas after meeting Richard Youngs, with whom a strong and friendly connection – alimented by their swap of sonic experiences – was developed. If that weren’t enough, he’s been a Buddhist monk in the Tibetan tradition and still acts as a translator and scholar of Mongolian and Tibetan literature. The tracks comprised by “Love & Lamentation” do possess spiritual features and hallowed tinges, yet they’re also distinguished by what often appears like a wry sense of humour – which is not bad at all, especially in consideration of what the composer himself writes about his own liking/disliking of parts of the work. “Sandokai” is the mangling of a tape containing a recital of prayers given to Wickam-Smith by a nun years ago, the chants so deeply disfigured that the originals aren’t identifiable anymore, looping and pitch transposing at the basis of the procedure. “The Kin-kindness of Beforehand” is the result of a teamwork with poet Rachel Becker, her self-recited verses subjected to a distorting treatment for which the woman’s voice is rendered in dozens of different accents and tones, including a hard-to-believe conversion in a baby girl. The three-part title track revolves around the tone of Turkish singer Asik Veysel Sirsoglu, which – mixed with seamed samples of psalm singing of the Scottish Isle of Lewis – generates a chain of entrancing matters whose substance is pretty much gripping, if a little too long-lasting. This doesn’t detract from a brilliant, ever fresh-sounding release.
OSWALD WIENER / HELMUT SCHOENER – Team of Jeremy Roht – West Dawson, Yukon-Territory (Supposè)
This can’t be missed, especially if you – like this writer – are a dog lover. These are recordings of sled dogs chanting, and this must be one of the most moving records I’ve ever heard. The beloved ones go solo, two or three of them joining in, then sometimes they all sing and whelp in a chorale that – to my ears – has the same intensity and emotional measure of a Ligeti piece (I’m not kidding, folks). It’s really incredible figuring out the dogs’ musical sense, like if they were researching an inner harmony, trying to tune to each other. One hears clusters, semi-consonant chords, innovative themes, even crying blues. The only things I don’t like are the “bumps” of the tape starting the recordings, but Wiener and Schoener really did a fantastic work.
JOE WILLIAMSON – The ungrateful carjacker (Grob)
Have you ever heard a REALLY good solo acoustic bass record? Joe Williamson from Canada just released a small masterpiece of instrumental low-frequency delight, taking us by the hand with a hypnotic growl, making us breathe slow for long moments, all the while demonstrating all the nuances that such an instrument can yield in the hands of a mature musician. This journey across Williamson’s perception of music is not without detours: Joe’s bass is present with many characters, grooving forms, percussive approaches (the latter in particular are to be heard towards the end of the disc), all perfectly clear and always wonderfully concise. In a world full of useless “technical virtuosity monsters”, Williamson stands there with the Paul Rogerses and the Peter Kowalds, pumping his own heart into his unique instrumental voice, thus making “The ungrateful carjacker” a highly important first solo chapter, to be listened pronto.
W!77iN6 – Brotherhood of the backwards handshake (Evolving Ear)
Their name means “Willing”, two semi-insane destroyers of anything that they happened to handle. The past is necessary, because the duo of Fritz Welch and Ian Christe ceased to exist (at least for the momentary being) about seven years ago. They performed here, there and somewhere else across selected areas of the West Coast, released a few tapes, then nothing else occurred in the history of this galvanizing outburst of undisciplined creativity. Welch is now a member of the great Peeesseye, while Christe is known as a writer. This will probably provide an idea of what to expect from this CD, where the couple is credited with “all foregrounds & backgrounds, drums, unnatural ringing, whistles, chants and unprepared guitars”. Evolving Ear calls this their “best record ever put out”; I dare to dissent (the above mentioned Peeesseye are still wackier and a tad more exciting to these ears) but sure enough the music contained in this album is absorbing, although not in the manner that we’re used to. That “unnatural ringing” causes our attention to leapfrog between the pendulous gutter of a difficult concentration and the surprise deriving from having to do with something that morphs and bubbles into new shapes every thirty seconds or so. It is impossible to give an even vague description of this stuff. Think of an audio cassette thrown upon the burning sand of a mid-summer beach, inserted in a can of molasses and played by a machine whose speed control is fucked up. Pedals that don’t work properly, crazed anti-patterns, screeching de-humanization of everything seemingly gifted with a “logic”. Are we guaranteed that a straight handshake can really make us feel better?
CHRISTOPHER WILLITS – Plants and hearts (Room40)
After the splendid “Listening garden” with Taylor Deupree on 12k, Christopher Willits assumes a protagonist role with this short CD, entirely based on the treated sound of his guitars. Layers of throbbing pulse self-reproduce in a tranquil, if visibly undulating pool of shimmering chords, which the composer extends and renders more or less seamless in order for us to better appreciate the twilights and aurorae that the “cloudy jangle” of the processed strings generates. It’s not completely static, as the reiterated harmonies remain on a single spot for a few minutes, only changing their vibrating intensity; then another chordal wash comes in, like cutting to a new scene but always in the same kind of aural photograph. As in many releases by the excellent Australian label, do not look for excess of detail in this music: Willits is one of the masters in the game of modified tones, comparable to names such as James Plotkin or even Michael Brook (remember the latter’s “infinite guitar”?) and this release is one of his very best, constituting an example of sonic art worthy to belong to the élite of both ambient-derived offerings and installation-oriented soundscapes.
ETHAN WINOGRAND – Tangled tango (Clean Feed)
Drummer Ethan Winogrand comes from punk – he was a member of CBGB mainstays Joe Cool in the era of Television, Talking Heads and Ramones – but one would never guess from the linear themes and elegant progressions of “Tangled tango”, which seems him leading a sextet comprising Carlos Barretto on double bass, Gorka Benitez on saxes, Steven Bernstein on trumpet and slide trumpet, Ross Bonadonna on guitar and Eric Mingus on electric upright bass. Winogrand penned the majority of the compositions, twelve pieces exploring several angles of a warm tranquillity that lets us accept conventional forms with ease, also in consideration of the rockish influence inspiring the music, especially in the title track where Bonadonna’s saturated guitar phrases act as a perfect trait d’union between jazz tradition (the record is dedicated to Elvin Jones) and desire of howling at the moon against the excesses of intellectualization. This is not one of those feverish expressions of parapsychologic transcendence that enlightens us for one hour then fades away to remain eternally forgotten, despite the presence of several slanted interconnections in a few tracks; it’s rather a batch of funny tunes, played with imaginative if reflective drive by six souls whose different credentials allow them to fluctuate between genres quite effortlessly.
WISHFUL THINKING – Wishful Thinking (Clean Feed)
The first thing that one remarks while listening to this CD is a strong presence of thematic exposition, and it’s so pleasing – just every once in a while – to be able to savour something that, at times, permits a quasi-singalong yet is so rich in gradations of improvisational funk-bop. Wishful Thinking is a quintet formed by Johannes Krieger (trumpet), Alipio C Neto (tenor sax), Alex Maguire (piano), Ricardo Freitas (electric bass) and Rui Gonçalves (drums), the latter being the only musician who doesn’t contribute with his own compositions to the album. Given the majority of recent Clean Feed releases, which tend to the most contaminated (and dissonant) aspects of contemporary jazz, this material sounds pretty relaxing on a first listen. But under the crust of harmonic acceptability lie many levels of intersection, organized within the rules of a mature, exciting interplay. Krieger’s “443″ is one of the most satisfactory examples in that sense, his trumpet excruciatingly independent from canons, Maguire’s chordal mastery highlighting continuous shifts of tonal centre, Freitas and Gonçalves surpassing definitions in their piratic assaults to rhythmic subdivisions and Neto decorating the whole with legitimate serenity. All of the above is promptly left aside in the subsequent – and much more unquiet and nervous – “Eléctrico 28″, penned by Neto himself, which puts the quintet through schizophrenic deviations from an already difficult course. In more delicate sauce, “Bundawar” – again by Krieger – manifests itself via slightly tangential melodic lines and lonesome piano arpeggios, and I hope not to be offensive if I tell that it wouldn’t sound out of place on ECM, while Maguire’s “Buffalo Bill” is all square in terms of intervals but almost rocking as far as moving our feet is concerned, with a truly splendid Gonçalves in a lucid delirium of counter-accents and fractured tempos. Beautiful stuff.
STEPHAN WITTWER – Sicht 04 etc. (Domizil)
Swiss sound artist Stephan Wittwer uses guitar as basic instrument for this double CD, a carefully assembled work, very different from one disc to another. On the “etc.” part every sound is eaten and digested by a heavy computer treatment via programs like Super Collider according to casual mechanisms; that means random noise, nebulous atmospheres and funny sequencing of “guitar events” go together in a spurious climate. The second disc is completely filled with “Sicht 04″, a 51-minute composition verging around more soft-footed landscapes where harmonics hover in huge clouds, dynamics change more sweetly and the general feel reminds of a cross between Main and an excellent form of reductionist ambient. This particular mixture is nicely meditative and relaxing; Wittwer should insist in this direction.
JOHANN WLIGHT – YV (Evelyn)
Must be the cold November day that is today or just a personal predisposition; fact is, I was captured by the spirit of “YV” right away. Mostly based on a cloudy atmosphere built upon dissonant electronics, involving looping and sharp intensity variations in acousmatic sauce, Wlight’s sound world can’t be compared to anyone else’s, even if I’m sure that lovers of Zoviet France (like yours truly) could really find something to cuddle here. Clocking at about 30 minutes, this could be a perfect hors d’ouvre to future steps towards an echelon of truly independent, articulated soundscapers who could rekindle the torch of a genre living on glorious past memories – and, at this moment, not much else indeed.
JOHANN WLIGHT – Dauswkn (Sijis)
Another nice artifact by Wlight, whose canvases grow more and more interesting as I get to know his music better. Through careful juxtapositions of concrete sounds, field recordings and static electronics Johann depicts a sort of warped image, almost painful in its unquietness. Releasing emotional mumblings with a dropper, without the need of dazzling lights and spectacular tricks, the composer acts with masterful balance and matching emphasis on the right spots of emotional sedimentation. In “Dauswkn” technology and human frailty reach a complex interaction, best enjoyable in moments like the delicate duo between a fax machine’s signal and birds’ chants (about 24 minutes into the piece). Wlight’s work is made of sensations so digging that, at the end of the record, you just realize they have emptied your brain.
JOHANN WLIGHT – Yvnshrynd (Queasy Listening)
This difficult title is a 23-minute track which “explores the properties of the feminine principle and the undercurrent of the archetype of the Black Virgin”. Wlight, one of the very few truly gifted survivors in this genre, by now fallen prey of the most depressing dilettantism, still rekindles my forlorn hope of listening to meaningful soundscapes by assembling a coherent range of sources with respectable compositional attitude and keen ear, maintaining a sober attitude that excludes easy effects and commonplaces. From the initial slow breath of a huge sleeping entity accompanied by humming frequencies, we’re led through a nightmare of hypotheses and modifications of the surrounding reality, achieved through metallic reverberations and underground emissions. The central section is enlightened by a cyclical submerged chant by what I perceive as a falsetto Gregorian choir (…or are they just children?); it’s a sublime element of continuity that brings the piece to its conclusion, with the creatures progressively following their path back to obscurity, until silence returns. A compelling and well thought-out work.
CHRISTIAN WOLFARTH – Wolfarth (For 4 Ears)
Following an aesthetical concept based on the raw qualities of harmonic percussion, Wolfarth paces his sounds in the grey area where precipitation and carelessness are banned, in favour of a mixture of idioms which could remind, at different moments, of Jon Mueller, David Jackman, Z’EV, Eddie Prevost. Yet, the way this drummer approaches his solo playing is characterized by a little bit of anarchic nativeness, which makes the acceptance of his harsh cymbal bowing and noisy scraping less easy, also thanks to an organic looseness that’s evident throughout the disc. Elsewhere, Wolfarth’s fingers on the snare’s skin represent a peculiar kind of plastic raindrops falling amidst sounds of table tennis balls crushed by a grinding machine. This music never gropes about in darkness; it’s not easy to digest at first, but its balance comes from the deep study that his creator put into it.
WOLFENSTEIN – Ddddootttt (Post-Concrete)
My very first time with Wolfenstein (Xie Zhongqi), a Taipei-based artist that “has been experimenting with as many techniques of sound making as possible”. Electronic signals, a semi-subsonic murmur, a sturdy post-minimalist pulse but no harmony, everything cold as the lights in a morgue. Bouncing high frequencies join in, the rhythmic tapestry beginning to show a deeper intricacy: more than the timbre of the sources, the real interest resides in trying to follow each line’s structural density, while the dissonant factor swells little by little. The music walks with heavy feet, the basic pattern becoming increasingly aggressive as the minutes flow and those bubbly emissions pierce the cranium from every available angle, just like the evil species of Gremlins popping out everywhere. At one point, the irregular drumming of those constructions remains naked, only scarred by additional electronics; still no trace of assistance under the shape of a chord, or even a regular note. That’s all for the better: this is the territory which fans of industrial battlefields – and Z’EV in particular – will find pretty hospitable. Merciless until the end, this composition should be played loud for most impressive results. Prayers and contemplations don’t belong here, this is sheer sonic danger. In its genre, utterly brilliant.
AMNON WOLMAN – Sustains (Interval)
Just listen to “Incline”, a procession of glacial frequencies in slow spirals of dejection, to understand the potential of Amnon Wolman’s music, of which this album presents five engaging examples. Invisible pain and quiet, thoughtful introspection seem to matter, most of anything else, in the mind of this composer from Israel; the large part of the album is based on almost immobile masses of otherworldly sounds and computer-treated voices which could be perfect either as a commentary for a contemporary theatre piece or as a soundtrack for a serious sci-fi movie. Certain segments reminded me of the most static moments in Roland Kayn’s electronic symphonies – yet Wolman works on simpler sources – but also of Chinese composer Dajuin Yao, and even (get this) Steve Tibbetts’ “Northern song” (a loop towards the end of the disc is involuntarily similar to the conclusion of Tibbetts’ “Nine doors” on that record). Indeed, this quasi-motionless nature is easily the most striking feature of “Sustains”, whose translations of mind processes into fine electroacoustic sculptures yield several moments of uncompromising aural gratification – and somehow I feel that Wolman could even go further than this.
SATORU WONO – Sonata (Sonore)
The complete title is “Sonata for sine wave and white noise”; Wono is a composer, DJ and an Assistant Professor at Tama University in Tokyo. This is a light-hearted record in which any rhythm, melody and sonority is created by the above elements; I had erroneously expected something along the lines of Alvin Lucier but no – Satoru Wono is a man of simple choices and his general design is making vivid music through a few well organized ideas. “Sonata” needs an attentive listening to be fully enjoyed, because if you don’t care too much about its formal structure it could get you in a wrong way – waves, bleeps and frequent techno pacing could easily be dismissed like a hundred records you find today. Only when you realize the importance of the single sound event, the extremely well-timed settings put in motion in a pretty energizing context, existing only to be right there, you’ll be able to fully understand this release. So, yes: light-hearted but absolutely not without a brain.
NATE WOOLEY – Wrong shape to be a story teller (Creative Sources)
If you really want to test yourselves, putting your money where your mouth is during those discussions with your friends about “lowercase”, “reductionism” and other by now trendy definitions, look no further than this exquisitely hostile work, where Nate Wooley tackles silence and calmness through a series of postcards from the hell of deviant trumpet. Wrecking all institutional conventions, Wooley extracts pneumatic excursions and electrostatic aromas from the nails of a buggy muteness, at times provoking the listener with machine-like holds/ostinatos and eruptions of charged clumsiness, then inviting the surrounding environment to take his place while he develops the next ideas as soon as they come to mind. Clucks and breath become a challenge to the sophistication of what is “acceptable” in improvisation and certainly Wooley is not the kind of artist likely to look back after his corrosive statements; in this album, even the absence of events becomes dangerous.
NATE WOOLEY – Run, she whispered (Self release)
This music, which comes on a handmade ultra-limited edition to accompany a recent tour by Wooley, is not exactly what you want in your walkman while going to work. It needs to interact with what you’re doing at home – and I mean manual activities, such as cleaning or moving things. Forget hatha yoga, for the moment. This does not mean that one shouldn’t listen carefully, also because the dynamic range goes from the almost inaudible to lo-fi auricular membrane shattering, either with sudden stinging feedback or via a hellish mess of noise that would make Lou Reed’s “Metal machine music” pale in comparison. Extended mouth techniques interact with the trumpet, sounding like pans left rusting in an abandoned country kitchen, where every now and then animals peep in to look for some food remnant. A winded lung finally collapses after performing its best imitation of a walrus on heat. Tubes and valves contribute to a new definition of the meaning of “natural harmonics” and, dulcis in fundo, female orgasmic moans mix with the above mentioned monstrous uproar, drawing a curious “pain/pleasure” axis which is yet another intriguing facet of this difficult, almost cryptic album.
NATE WOOLEY / PAUL LYTTON – Nate Wooley / Paul Lytton (Brokenresearch)
Brokenresearch privileges vinyl, this duet being no exception. Do I really need to explain who the protagonists are? Better sticking to the description of the “music”, which is as exciting as a voyage in the circuits of a drill that ends in a cauldron of boiling acid. Odourless exhalations instantly define the limits of our ignorance, seemingly predicting a microsound-based meeting, but it was not to be. The guided tour lets us peep at strange percussive outgrowths staking an irregular phraseology, Wooley pumping the air through enharmonic ravage first, then starting to reproduce the last notes that Miles would emit before the electric chair. Soon Lytton enjoys equal opportunities to shine, apparently deciding that “shining” in this case means pasquinading across the quintessence of disarticulation, eviscerating whatever solid body happens to come across his hands, crumbling the meaning of “accompaniment” into a series of chewed pulps that taste like rusted metal. The whole might appear as injudicious improvisation and I’m sure that the musicians repeatedly smirked to each other while generating this hypermarket of the absurd. It’s from recording such as this, though, that we realize what Arnold Schoenberg meant when in the “Harmonielehre” he wrote about “melodies of timbres”. Not only these bright-minded alumni seem to have learnt the lesson, they have shifted the concept to another stage. There’s no truth to the rumour that they also battered a few snotty jazzbos along the way (got to dig those fabulous trumpet lines towards the end of side B, though – maybe it was Wooley on that electric chair after all). Idiosyncratically great.
DION WORKMAN / MATTIN – S3 (Formed)
Completely conceived on Workman and Mattin’s laptops, “S3″ is one of those albums where you have to think twice before using the term “music”, as this stuff sounds more like the silent core of a nuclear reaction, sound particles and hissing noises remaining at the basis of the piece throughout its duration, together with deep silence. The evolution of the single movement on which the record is based is designed with remarkable restraint; many of its mechanisms are barely audible, even when listening by headphones. The abused definition of “human element” is rendered completely useless, since the dynamics of the duo allow no room to interpretation of gestures or translation of codes. It’s all there: the faint light of an unidentified object in a dark room, glowing but not enough to help finding the out door; the impressive subdural vibration that ends the album, leaving us in the freezing wind of our ignorance of many acoustic phenomena. Merry melodies have no future.
JACK WRIGHT – Up for grabs (Spring Garden Music)
There is much to like in Jack Wright’s mature improvisations; the first feeling is one of “warmth”: even at his most squealing corrosive, his soprano holds on to a nicely contoured permutation of fluted harmonics, sublingual contortions and analytic use of multiphonics, halfway through controlled stabilization and total fluster. Jack’s soloist approach tends to a versatile evisceration of chosen parts, a monologue where larval hissing and note splitting are central for the exaltation of air’s role in this beautiful gathering of physical imagery. Notes and instrumental noises pour out in a deconsecration of useless sax gadgetry, hiding after their own deviated scoff to make one think about the many and one ways musicians could use to reverse immoral attitudes towards sound; people like Wright could deliver us from this impurity. IMPORTANT NOTE: this and future CDR releases by Spring Garden Music will be available for free, except for mailing costs of course. Now you have no more reasons to stand inert.
JACK WRIGHT – As is (Spring Garden Music)
I could compare the act of listening to Jack Wright’s music to entertaining a profound exchange with a half-human nestor that leapfrogs genres and definitions in feverish state, but also enjoys an inner peace similar to that of a proud farmer contemplating his lands from a hill at sunset. “As is” features Wright on soprano and alto sax in three recordings captured live in Beirut and Barcelona. It’s much more than a simple documentation of a concert, though: we get the frail nudity of silence, which the artist attempts to bring on his side with selected spurts of conscious jaywalking, far from the deliria of speechifiers who think of reed instruments as a pretext for morphing their squawks into a low-budget flux of consciousness. Wright’s tone is often joyful, never mistrustful, always pure expression of gut placidity; there’s not a single moment in which anguish or rage come to the fore. The music does not lend itself to interpretation: it’s a non-floundering soul movement, a soliloquy in front of a broken mirror reflecting numberless forms of respect for the instrument and, at large, for the audience, which receives an authentic voice, warts and all. Jack Wright’s aerials are oriented eastwards, waiting for more signals from parallel galaxies to convert into wayside reflections that have the same depth of a silent prayer.
JACK WRIGHT – The indeterminate existence (Last Visible Dog)
Thus Jack Wright concludes his liner notes: “Music is the clear sky, it is the cloudy sky, and to lie on the grass and look up at it is sheer delight”. For my money, this man’s work is also an endearing hymn to the precious little things of life that give us the fuel to go on. Even if his deeply heartfelt considerations on the CD leaflet explain many things about his path as a player and his improvisation concept in general – also revealing the reasons for which he, as an avantgarde artist, does not like to look back to his past music – these tracks date from that very past. And they still sound damn good, respecting no hierarchy in their freelance attack to nonsense formulas and predictable putrefactions. Alone with his sax, Wright talks, rants, blurps, squeaks, gurgles, generating instant soliloquies around quarter tones, then negating every affirmation via hiccups and coughs. He fecundates the air with remarkable imaginativeness spiced by enormous quantities of paradoxical irony, fiddling with the rousing aspects of the noisy emissions of a machine that, in his mouth, kills our brain’s desire to take a nap while launching quacks and honks that many free music-loving ducks would enthusiastically approve. Leader of a group of one, the man is a never-dissolving example of total freedom of choice and expression, a pulverizer of those funny-smelling concepts through which many “musicians” snap cheap glories up; Wright just doesn’t care about the shape of things yet he creates many, without apparent effort; our mind is happily forced to learn something new every time. We need some more like this to smother the unsustainable mediocrity that just wouldn’t leave the planet, all the while enjoying some exceptional playing by an artist belonging to a unique breed.
JACK WRIGHT / BOB MARSH – Birds in the hand (Public Eyesore)
Nothing more, nothing less: “Birds in the hand” is a stern – but at the same time pretty humorous – example of absolute freedom in improvising; through saxes, clarinet, cello, violin and processed vocals, the two friends always find a way to entertain and going for the listener’s throat, all the while keeping a wry smile on their face. They don’t care about being all the rage, Marsh and Wright just take out their instruments and ride you around, looking for that spot in your stomach that will be promptly occupied by their funny lines, raucous dissonances, crazy dialogues. Jack and Bob mop the floor with a lot of so-called “names” but they keep you unaware of that, their only apparent goal having a lot of fun with themselves and the world. Nevertheless, the music is damn difficult – and quite amazing.
JACK WRIGHT / MICHAEL JOHNSEN – Truant runts (Sprout)
A duo like the one of Wright and Johnsen, who run the whole distance between the “omissis” of a censored speech and the raspy outcome of repeated heated exchanges, is just what my fussy persona needs when everything in improvisation seems to be already said and done. Saxophones, electronics and saw are the means for a music that’s the equivalent of a blasphemous cycle of electrotherapeutics, up there with crazed mementos of human imperfection camouflaged as raggedy rustles and photophobic handouts. Wright’s re-engineering of reed techniques turns the snugness of “easy” listening topsy-turvy, insulating intelligence from mass-produced boredom. Johnsen’s unbelievable control of saw and electronics’ vocal qualities makes a lot of sense in this unembarassed context of plucky affirmations of independence from any predetermined canon. If these guys are “truant runts”, then most jazz players are mental midgets.
JACK WRIGHT / TOM DJLL / BHOB RAINEY / TIM FEENEY – Road signs (Soul On Rice)
These two live trio recordings – by Rainey/Wright/Djll in Boston, 2002 and Feeney/Wright/Djll in Rochester, 2005 – ignore the normal expectancies of an audience by trying to furtively impose a jargon of coordinated indiscipline, at times enhanced by the city noise coming from an open window. Gambling on a functional hostility towards the adoption of a regular contrapuntal connotation, the musicians decorate our ears with filaments of disobedient emissions from instruments that are both weapons of disturbance and exciting destroyers of conventional timbral barriers: there is a section in “Road” where Djll’s prepared trumpet sounds like my neighbour cutting the grass with his electric mower – and this is a compliment, also to my neighbour’s involuntary tendency to improvisation. Rainey and Wright’s saxophones are two electroshocked birds trying to regain their flying linearity before starting a conversation with a dozen wasps, all animals finally deciding to attack a jogger listening to AOR rock in a walkman. There are also more “tranquil” moments, where the low grunts and thuds by the players become a facetious menace, whose effective lightheartedness is finally revealed by games of voice, wind and percussion. Never able to act obsequiously, this music penetrates the consciousness without a definite shape but carrying such a vibrational non-conformity that only arrogance could refuse a priori. At the end of the day, “Road signs” is the sound of an organism with a nice sense of humour.
JACK WRIGHT / JOHN M. BENNETT / BEN BENNETT – Rotty what (Luna Bisonte)
A collection of live and studio improvisations coming in a Spartan-looking limited edition, “Rotty what” is a trio for saxophone, spoken word and percussion in which the artists’ instinctive reactions lead them through paths where everyone seems to look at the landscape without no one properly driving so that, after this freewheeling vehicle refuses to steer and plops the three men in wayside dirt, they just start building mud castles and conversing about the non-existent aesthetics of those impromptu constructions. A good portion of the vocal tracks somehow remind me of Kurt Schwitters’ Ursonate as JM Bennett munches, gulps and blathers, retrofitting his jargon with the same attitude of a professor who, systematically ignored by the alumni, decides to change the cards on the table by surprising them via the language of nonsense in lieu of correct grammar. Wright, a spectacularly gifted saxophonist who embodies the “learn-technique-then-throw-it-away” method of free playing better than anyone else (and whose example is still tragically un-followed by many) alternates overheated honks, orangutan cries and scurfy hisses in concordance with the conversational necessities of Ben Bennett, the latter looking like a fortuneless drummer whose relativistic method allows for the scattered elements of his pennyworth set to become full-force emitters of percussive radiations, ever unpredictable, always functional. Tough music for tough connoisseurs, played like small children do before destroying their toy instruments.
PETER WRIGHT – Catch a spear as it flies (Cpsip)
Wright’s records are very scarce and difficult to find; that’s a shame, because among them are camouflaged quite a few landmark works that need to be listened by a much wider audience. Such is the case of this CDR release where Peter mostly uses guitars, field recordings and – I believe – feedback manipulation through various means to obtain cascades of atmospheric ambiences and piercing vibrations that unfold slowly in an extremely fluid sonic continuum. In “Catch a spear as it flies” water, birds, storms and engines add their elemental poetic to the music, enhancing physical phenomena like hums, buzzes and electric discharges while unrecognizable sounds spring from silence to focus our attention to something else. Strata of delayed guitars take off in droney open spaces to enter our consciousness without waking it up, yet planting seeds of unique anxiety for something that we like, that we are not able to decode, that we don’t want to lose.
PETER WRIGHT – Crater lake (Blackest Rainbow)
Peter Wright is not your typical newsletter kind of artist, consequently hard times in locating his extremely limited masterpieces await if you don’t check his website with regular cadence. Too bad indeed, as the London-based New Zealander is one of the very best creators of spellbinding guitar drones on the scene. “Crater lake” (100 copies, hurrah!) starts like the first lights of dawn as seen from a hill in a spring night, faint intuitions and almost imperceptible dashes converting attention into a hazy torpor. But it keeps growing on the senses, elongated notes and jangling chords rapidly establishing their authority with the necessary detachment, a troubled calm preluding to something bad. Around minute 23 the dynamics change excruciatingly, the guitars start roaring and chugging, the headphone’s membranes barely containing Wright’s distorted mantra. A cross of deformed melodies – psychedelic, one would say – changes the listening perspective from pseudo-meditative to nightmarish, the sonic mass advancing with a degree of not-really-repressed violence that would like to asphyxiate our nerves sooner than later. We can’t really see the light at the end of the tunnel, and the dissonance continues to raise its voice. It all makes for an acid, gloomy, yet spiritual music that leaves both puzzled and emotionally charged when the record is over, quite abruptly, abandoning the receivers to a strange sense of incompleteness.
PETER WRIGHT – At last a new dawn (Students Of Decay)
As trends rule people’s decisions, influential magazines treat shit like god just because those artistic nonentities can crank up a Marshall and record a bunch of distortion for thirty minutes, releasing forty CDs in a year and a half by pitch transposing the same blob every time differently. Other people, who until yesterday were into ambient (meaning that they can’t properly play an instrument), buy vintage guitars, learn an E to F/E two-chord shift and produce kilos of vinyl and CDs with that progression, always the same. Making nice money, too. Peter Wright is probably too humble – and not so well acquainted – for his own good, but he listens to what happens around and, especially, to what the heart transmits to fingers and brain. Those sensations are consequently turned into greatly emotional, if harshly tolling prayers, having PW been doing this way before the hordes of above described fakes. A little equipment (typically a 12-string electric guitar, various effects and a laptop) and a minimal creative sparkle constitute the tools to craft compositions that resonate outside and within our essence, if we’re able to “catch the spear as it flies”, to quote from one of his most enthralling records. This beautifully titled effort is a double CD – nine pieces in total, the large part consecutively seamed – that shows the level of magnitude reached by the London-based New Zealander’s output in this millennium. The music is at once elegiac and evocative, also courtesy of Peter’s sapient utilization of field recordings and TV babbling; as a matter of fact, a track was recorded in the day of the terrorist attack to the London subway and contains sonic snippets of that event. The guitarist is a master of the “first lull, then slap the face” technique, fed with long drones and breathtaking slanted glissandos that provoke a cathartic state in the sensible listeners, who are subsequently led within a furnace of clanging chords and growingly roaring saturation aptly equalized by cutting the most piercing highs off, so that the whole sounds at times like diffused by a ghetto blaster whose speakers are suffocated by a towel. In between, urban noise, mental confusion, playing children, fantastic bird singing. It’s the voice of life, and Wright is a sensitive enough man to give us a correct report of what that very life can reserve to fragile beings. He remains more or less shrouded by the ignorance of the new music media, yet there’s no question that he’s one of the finest musicians of the last twenty years. Very highly recommended. Newcomers: you might want to check Wright’s profile penned by yours truly in July 2005 on Paris Transatlantic (also in the Free Man in Paris section of this website) to start your search on the subject.
PETER WRIGHT – Pretty mushroom clouds (Archive)
Throughout the years I’ve been trying hard to understand the reasons behind an utter submission to Peter Wright’s droning cathedrals, well conscious that this phenomenon is indeed strange given my scarce consideration for a sizeable chunk of contemporary nothingness cooked with the same ingredients. Easy: get a guitar, bring the amp to the stage of pre-detonation, feed a looper, a little bit of Satan-meets-hippy look and you’re done. A photo session and voila – here’s the best thing on earth (honest, no pun intended) since chocolate. Never mind that the music invariably, depressingly sucks – this is what’s cool now therefore the records must be bought. On the other hand, I still have to see a picture where this artist’s face is really visible, and didn’t manage to find an album – in a corpulent yet culpably overlooked discography – that wasn’t appreciated. “Pretty mushroom clouds” features five tracks recorded in France, US, Scotland and Ireland during rare live performances of our man, who redesigns one’s day through his cathartic walls of heavenly saturation muffled by a frequency filtering that seems designed to pick the right spots of the soul to transplants harmonic knowledge in them. Whenever Wright raises the volume, he sounds spectacular – metallic yet absolutely gorgeous even with a single chord. If the New Zealander decides that the piece will remain confined in the limbo of delicate suspension, with a few field recordings for good measure, that’s exactly what you get. Shall we define it brutal honesty? Better to shut up once and for all and trying to learn aural colour decoding, for this is one of the most evolved painters of riveting sound waves today. There’s still a lot of work needed to push him towards a highly deserved bigger fame. Continuing to plug away is a pleasure but, folks, help me out here – Peter literally epitomizes the “unsung great”.
PETER WRIGHT – Burning a hole in the sun (Waterscape)
A 3-inch CD is probably not sufficient for Peter Wright’s music to fully establish its transfixing supremacy on the listener’s spirit, but in the wait for a new full-length release we’ll reluctantly agree to this 21+ minute piece of work, since it’s just as inevitably impressive (if you’re smelling preferential treatment, you got it right; I don’t give a damn anyway). This starts with an ambiguous moan from the underground, something that might be mistaken with a sound coming from the remote outside world – an engine, an aircraft – yet harmonious in an instantly identifiable way, the upper partials beginning their slow march towards the focal point of wisdom. Inescapably, distortion becomes increasingly tyrannical until what sounded like unbounded guitar chords on infinite hold at the outset becomes a hoarse mantra of saturated contrasts and contradictory ululations to an uninterested moon. It all continues nearly to the end, except that the last few minutes revisit the initial stasis, echoes of a collapsed brainpower still lingering, our unconsciousness complete, the desperation deriving from not understanding what moved us all the more aching. Indispensable as usual and, on a second thought, even a short wax cylinder recording can do it when Wright is around.
SEYMOUR WRIGHT – Seymour Wright of Derby (Self-release)
One of the things that I really get pleasure from in “Seymour Wright of Derby” – an already out of print 100-copy limited edition (sent for free to those who had requested it and now downloadable at the above link) – is the recurrent appearance of aircrafts and ghosts of traffic in the distant background, yet another testimony of the fact that the music was recorded at home (which is instantly made clear by the radio heard at the very beginning of the initial track) in a condition of physical and mental isolation that is probably the perfect trait d’union linking the creative act and the surrounding environment, which frequently influences an artist’s gesture more than people can imagine. The timbral disarticulation applied by Wright in his playing is indeed impressive: rarely an inside-and-out saxophone album has sounded so disengaged by the emblematic quintessence of the instrument. The man often takes long seconds of pause from an emission to the next, as if in need of letting the brain conjure up images that the lungs subsequently convert in series of mind-boggling noises and acrid vibrations, some of them obtained by external implements applied on the body of the instrument. The first two improvisations are pretty short, even though they let us immediately understand what we’re dealing with: definitely not your typical solo performance for easy EAI classification. The hisses, the tricks of the tongue, the sudden screeches and blasts – some of them are almost scary, if you ask me – sound different, dust-on-the-shirt can kicking rather than guru-influenced meditations if you get my point. But the truly extraordinary stuff comes in the second half, two lengthy sections where the connection between the elements becomes total. Meager discharges that mix with what happens in and around Wright’s room, wobbly poisoning currents, snapping tremors, quacking bits and pieces, a final slow glissando that literally sounds like the decaying wave of an analog synthesizer. The radio appears again in a tiny fragment towards the end, while the “whoosh factor”, deeply feared by insightful analysts, is actually not this central in the overall scheme. The general poverty of means translates into a kind of unusual beauty that values crude substance, escaping any tentative fine-tuning of vacuousness.
WZT HEARTS – Threads rope spell making your bones (Carpark)
The quartet of Mike Haleta (circuit-bent guitar pedals, laptop, guitar, tapes), Jeff Donaldson (Commodore 64, bi-tone guitar, mixer), Jason Urick (laptop) and Shaun Flynn (drums, vocals), Wzt Hearts – pronounced “Wet Hearts”, but don’t ask me why – hail from Baltimore, this being their second full-length release. A Commodore 64? And what exactly is a “bi-tone guitar”? It doesn’t matter anyway. This group is very good and, what counts for more, incomparable to anything that I can think of right now. I tried a few distant associations but they work only for short periods, before Wzt Hearts change scenario and atmosphere, throwing everything we gathered in the trash bin. Imagine, if you will, an on-dope version of Biota: a pot-pourri of acrid loops, fractal percussion, pulsating sub-bass and electronic malformations which fills the air with a mixture of threat and malaised standstill crammed with bleeping signals, heart-rending throbs moving from one side to another in the stereo field, echoing paradoxes, implausible patterns. Guitars don’t sound as such except in rare cases, their frequency spectra refracted in thousands of muddled extroversions. Alien gamelan and statistically improbable combinations of computerized heavenly ugliness go together, doubled under the weight of a sonic mass that, at the end of the day, is more uplifting than oppressive. Excellent, considerably idiosyncratic music, to be swallowed in a single snort like a bitter liquor to wake up the senses from any residual torpor.
XEDH – Armiarma (Homophoni)
The micro-activity of a sine generator, a few microphones and a mixer are at the basis of the 14 minutes (divided in two parts) of “Armiarma”, the effort of Miguel A. Garcia aka Xedh available for download at Homophoni’s website. Nothing new on the front of feedback-based static music, but a good work nevertheless. The first movement is the noisier one, crackle and distortion taking command of the operations and remaining centre stage until a piercing high frequency and a parallel sub-bass hum introduce us to the second segment, the most “beautiful” so to speak, as the total becomes a spellbinding, alluring resonance of obscure electricity, a well deserved relief for the ears and a stimulating incidence for the rest of our fullness. Although we still detect some measure of microphone manoeuvring under the coat of apathy, the whole results as pretty soothing at the end. Nice one.
YAGIHASHI + SATO + HIGO – The temple of no power no virtue (Cohort)
This time I was taken by surprise, as this Japanese improvising trio is extremely discordant from the usual canons of this label, mostly based on abstract and minimal electronica. Yagihashi Tsukasa (alto sax), Sato Yukie (electric guitar, electronics), and Higo Hiroshi (electric bass, electronics) move around coordinates that could be more easily associable to Fred Frith and – in part – Loren Connors than to, say, Naked City, even if some of Yagihashi’s most unpredictable spurts could recall the most lyrical side of John Zorn. This album, a live recording in Tokyo, gets better with time after a pretty uncertain start; Sato and Higo exploit their effects thoroughly, mistreating their strings until they growl, rumble and shriek, only to bring them back into more hypnotic backgrounds over which Yagihashi plays with composed eagerness, sniffing the air in search of elusive pseudo-melodic chips. Despite the above mentioned names, the concoction results personal and definitely comprehensible, a lucid kind of free playing that, by remaining within certain borders, manages to touch more nerve than expected, making me curious to hear more from these artists.
Y.ANN – Valytheme (Kokeshidisk)
This is the reissue of a 1997 tape which was self-released by one of the two members of Ultra Milkmaids and comprises several pieces that include demos for that project. This music is not really hard-striking at first, yet by allowing these layered guitars to gain your trust you’ll be in for long moments of psychedelic ambient whose level is often quite good. Interspersed with digital-delayed fragments that appear and fade away in the space of a few seconds, these creations could even appeal to the most soft-hearted fans of the New Zealand branch of static guitaring (you know the names and I won’t list them here) and also of Aidan Baker, if only for a few shades here and there. The sound quality may be cassette-like, but several of the pieces are consistent enough to deserve a second and also a third try. Throughout the CD, billowing clouds of regretfulness darken the sky, even if a tentative detachment remains visible; in the right mental conditions, “Valytheme” contains music that’s almost moving. The best results are obtained by listening at a moderate volume from the speakers, muffled chords and reverberating flashes meshing with thin air and sad thoughts in effective ways.
DAJUIN YAO – Cinnabar red drizzle (Juxiang)
Working exclusively on simple forms of expression – such as the human voice or the act of writing – and mixing the results with masterful electroacoustic canvases, Dajuin Yao created a fantastic record, one of the most intense and beautiful sound works I’ve ever come across in decades of listening. Yao’s sense of sound placement is astoundingly perfect; his style is never poor or – on the contrary – overexceeding certain limits. He always seems to bring a high spiritual value to any of the pieces contained here; from the initial “Cinnabar red drizzle”, in which a pipa is sampled and reworked in a delightful mixture of computerized treatments of voice and instrument, to simple poetry read in the pouring rain (“Words without a song”), Dajuin is always on the quest for the deepest emotion. Even the most “technical” pieces maintain an aura of sacred delicacy and somehow are evoking ghosts from the past: the highest point has to be the truly awesome “Endless frustration”, in which treated voice and a powerful orchestral drone left my mouth open for several seconds. This was my first approach to Yao’s art: no doubt I’ll be looking forward for more.
DAJUIN YAO / LI JIANHONG / YAN JUN – Pisces Iscariots live at 2pi festival 2004 (KwanYin)
Quoting from the CD sleeve, “2pi festival is an annual noise/sound art festival curated and produced by Li Jianhong and 2pi Records in Hangzhou since 2004″. Consisting in a single track of almost 44 minutes, this disc features the talents of Dajuin Yao (laptop), Li Jianhong (tape recorder, laptop, effector), Yan Jun (singing bowls, sound forks, iPod, MD, CD, voice). Starting with environmental sounds, the piece is soon launched into a boiling quagmire of acousmatic inquietude where water, deformed utterances, wind and electronic treatments (not that I’m so sure about the sources…) weight the same in a pretty unusual setting that raises the oppression level to an instant peak. In a highly variegated background, we perceive voices and frequencies seemingly crossing shortwave radio, subsonic tests and marine rage, the music reaching repeated climaxes in the space of a few minutes; a sample of didjeridoo – courtesy of Maghiel Van Crevel – is opposed to overacute emissions that do their best to sting our membranes, until we feel like undergoing a brain defragmentation through sheer structural abstraction. One of the most intense sections, about 17 minutes into the piece, pairs looped Tuvan throat singing with dramatic gasps, giving the impression of the last efforts and thoughts crossing the mind of a drowning person, then out of the blue a telephone rings and a munchkin voice enters the scene amidst additional noise and buzz. A French poem is recited by male and female voices amidst harsh drones recalling a high tension station, a deep hum remaining on site for several minutes; then it all cuts to a miniaturized reproduction of metaphysically mangled traditional Chinese music. A heavily snoozing man is surrounded by thuds and bumps of any possible kind, then we’re introduced to a chorale of cicadas while the mess goes on and on. Sounds of trains. Hypnotic gazing at nowhere. Post-traumatic stillness. Vehicles. Droplets. Ever-present whirr. Only tentative descriptions of the innumerable scenes that characterize this effective, fresh-sounding, certainly intelligent release that I strongly advise to look for despite its rarity.
IAN YEAGER – Music for guitar + computer (Pax Recordings)
Picture a scene consisting of a man alone in his room, armed only with a naked soul and a minimum of instrumentation, surrounded by a multi-coloured dance of microdroplets amidst a light fog of simple guitar patterns and arpeggios, lots of spaces for thought and memories appearing from everywhere. Ian Yeager’s CD is positively refreshing, thoroughly inclined to peaceful states of mind; there’s some sheer beauty here, even if the relation between the guitar’s direct and computer-treated sound is quite simple and certainly not groundbreaking. Nevertheless, this nice cross between “Evening Star” (…remember Fripp & Eno?) and some of the most linear work by Christian Fennesz stands right in front of you with its own reasons to exist and a special way of winking to the listener. At the end of the day, truly pleasing music.
YITUEY – Sonadores (The Locus of Assemblage)
Born in Dominican Republic and currently based in San Juan, Puerto Rico, Claudio Yituey Chea has put to record 20 minutes of urban/environmental sounds taken from his motherland, applying a good treatment work to give them a compositional form. Birds, motors and bells are the main presence, surrounding the listener with incessant impetus and captivating allure. Though certainly not mind-blowing, “Sonadores” is pretty good – in several occasions, the sounds look like the equivalent of sheet-lightning before a storm; the processing itself is maybe the focal point of the whole piece. I’m waiting for more music and further developments from this welcome new acquaintance.
YITUEY – Espacio = Vida (Paralelo 18)
Another three-inch CD by Claudio Yituey Chea, this also being a 500-copy limited edition after his “Sonadores” on Locus of Assemblage. “Espacio = Vida” (Space = Life) is shaped by elements of everyday Puerto Rican sounds: the sea and the animals are so beautifully recorded, you’d think they’re behind your sofa, everything enhanced by a pleasing minimal touch of electronics. Born to run parallelly to an exhibition, nevertheless this music stands on its feet – a positive experience under any point of view, for sure a serious step forward in the right direction for this interesting assembler of “daily snapshots”.
YO MILES! – Upriver (Cuneiform)
The habitual stellar lineup, gathered by Wadada Leo Smith and Henry Kaiser for the third Yo Miles! release, throws many rays of funky light and lots of knockout grooves; “Upriver” sets the perfect human clock in a series of statements which may start from the 70s Miles Davis era, yet rapidly move in an elegant catwalk towards the affirmation of its own energetic orchestration and powerful rhythm, meanwhile canceling many of the jack-in-office tributes to the Dark Magus from the face of the planet. Almost 160 minutes of controlled ferocity are subdivided in two discs which Smith and Kaiser’s supergroup fill with a music whose force is pneumatically numinous: take for example the mix “Tune 5/One phone call” or “Black satin (slight return)” to have a clue of the complex alchemy that artists like these can produce when evocating such an aura of cynical greatness; above all, think about the awful ignorance of the ones ridiculing that period of Miles’ music, one of his most creative for yours truly. Maybe they are the same ones declaring Frank Zappa unable to release anything good after “Grand Wazoo”…
JOHN YOUNG – Lieu-temps (Empreintes DIGITALes)
As soon as the sign “Forlì” was spotted on the cover I got curious, as understanding the perpetual attraction of distant visitors for that socio-cultural quagmire called Italy – by far one of the most overrated countries in the globe in every sense, except perhaps the splendour of some of the landscapes and a few historic/artistic sites – keeps making a living as a perplexing matter in my mind. Still, this audio DVD is much more significant than that type of scrutiny, depicting how the shock of war (in this case, WWII) and the might of an everlasting reciprocal devotion often intertwine branches. John Young’s father Alex was in that city in 1944, a soldier in the New Zealand contingent of anti-German allies. Right there he met Tarcisia Fariselli – “love at first sight”, as Alex himself explains – who became his wife, following him after the end of the conflict. The crossroads of these destinies is movingly portrayed by a son who, admirably, devoted a huge endeavour to the circumstances during which his parents began to share a life. In “Ricordiamo Forlì”, Young utilized their voices, tapes of onsite reports from that era’s transmissions (from the archives of BBC and Radio New Zealand) and extraordinary field recordings of the city, the most frequent being the tolling bells of the churches, which the composer feels as “something permanent, yet alive” communicating a strong emotional message to a man who had listened to these recollections since he was a kid but only in 2002 was able, together with dad, to inhale the air of the place where it all happened. The set’s design, despite its intensely dramatic suggestions, sounds at times like an amazing fairy tale (also due to the essential presence of Franco Bianchini’s narrating voice) as Young magnificently delivers the blend of complementary sensations underlying the account through a vast range of breathtaking sonic structures, so striking that the great amount of spoken word segments never challenges our endurance; on the contrary, one’s impatient to know “what happens next”. The piece emerges as an intense acousmatic journey, utterly worthy of the 1st prize won at the Bourges International Festival in 2007. Another affecting composition for small orchestral group and electroacoustics, “Arrivederci”, closes the record with a touch of class by the Stroma ensemble, whose responsive reading of the score meshes with the ever-present sound of a bell – processed or less – closing a circle where grieving memories seem to claim the protagonist’s role, even when love is central in the unfolding story. Tangible mournfulness in a next-to-masterpiece oeuvre.
YUKO NEXUS6 – Nexus6 song book (Sonore)
Tired of “avantgarde” wives of famous rockstars who used to walk on the wild side? Try Yuko Kitamura – aka Yuko Nexus6 – and you’ll find a plethora of funny things accompanied by a positively minimalist ethic which distances this deceivingly “easy” music from the mass. Yuko’s favourite technique is a Macintosh-based cut ‘n’ paste that alters, pitch-shifts and utterly crumbles her voice during unpredictable songs, sometimes covers of traditionals and standards; there is a great version of “Over the rainbow” and an exhilarating interpretation of “In the shade of the old apple tree” that made me laugh loud. There’s also a certain degree of lucid madness – listen to “Nano”, dedicated to her cat, or “La chanson de l’adieu”, a 1’42″ schizoid low-budget acousmatic pastiche. Sometimes the vocal layers and their shattered simulacra remind me of Carl Stone, but Yuko’s for real and her artistic independence is quite admirable.
GINO ZARDO – Walking East (Alluvial)
A renowned photographer (take a look at the fabulous pictures adorning the cover and the booklet of this CD) Gino Zardo captured many intriguing frames of regular everyday (and night) life during long trips to India, Nepal and Papua New Guinea, in a series of splendid field recordings later assembled and transformed in a veritable composition by Janek Schaefer. The short duration – a little more than 21 minutes – does not detract from the sheer beauty of this complex layering of noises, voices, television, human and animal calls; the juxtaposition of sources reflects a finely conceived architecture, well-thought sound placement becoming the key to the appreciation of a luxury audio artifact. The whole package – photos and music – brims with love for life itself and is not to be missed.
ZAVOLOKA – Viter (Kvitnu)
Hip magazines are pumping up this girl’s sonic artefacts quite a bit these days thus I was pleased to receive one of her records, even if it lasts 19 minutes only. An artist from Kyiv, Ukraine, Zavoloka uses violin, electronic processing, various instruments and digital synthesis to which fragments of pre-recorded speech or songs can be added to create a personal brand of rhythmically enhanced, repetitive pulse music. In the case of “Viter” (“wind” in Ukrainian), she reserved a dedication to the “Air element”, with a series of references to the inner self that could even sound sincere, although sentences such as “human being is integral part of the universe” and “feel the Truth inside us and everywhere” mean much less today, after the largely diffused reduction of similar values to miserable covers for money-spinning dubious activities, or to disguise people’s incapability of concretely doing anything outstanding. In strictly musical terms, this is a helping of light-spirited electronica with rather regular rhythmic foundations, the superimposed violins generating contrasting waves and semi-consonant reverberations over a tapestry of not excessively profound sequences. Nice, but in all honesty not something to which this writer will return anytime soon.
ZEITKRATZER – Mort aux vaches/Random dilettantes (Staalplaat)
“Random” as the suggested CD playing, “Dilettantes” because no one is playing his own real instrument here. Zeitkratzer’s philosophy is a hybrid of XXI century chamber music and total improvisation – more about textural landscapes than melody, counterpoint or technique (which certainly they have no shortage of). Recently they’ve been highly praised, getting eligible for the upper echelon of contemporary avantgarde; eclecticism is their forte, as this record shows: their movements are decise and economic, looking for an object or a point to observe rather than an energy dispersion. The ensemble pays no lip service to artistic trends – they look to create their own way to freedom of expression. This music occurs right before your ears: it could sound shrinking at times, then it expandes in sudden outbursts, invading your space with calcolous lumps and mercurial provocations.
ZEITKRATZER – ElectroniX (X-tract)
There is a threatening quality in Zeitkratzer’s perspectives, probably coming out of their extreme solicitation of unresolved tensions. Predictions are reduced into shambles as Reinhold Friedl’s cohort plays every note with painstaking concentration, when not generating the purest raw sounds in almost maniacal search for an unlikely perfect discipline in their melting electroacoustic docudramas. In “ElectroniX” the ensemble tackles five different commitments with the same stretching expressive grip, performing compositions by Bernhard Günter (a silent storm called “Insects”) and Terre Thaemlitz (“Supersuperbonus”, a static masterpiece evolving in a 5/4 elephant walk – methinks it’s the best track of the CD); then they reassemble a great piece by Burkhard Schlothauer, attack our ears with piercing feedback in an installation setting (“Column one”) and play a “ppp” improvisation with the usually noise-associated Dror Feiler. This disc is a fabulous collection of unadulterated beauties, the perfect entrance to Zeitkratzer’s world for the ones who still don’t know them…by the way, is there any?
MICHAEL ZERANG – Cedarhead (Al Maslakh)
This set of duo improvisations between Swiss percussionist Michael Zerang and seven among the most gifted Lebanese free musicians was originally finished a few weeks before the “July War” broke up in 2006, thus assuming an emblematic value for Zerang, who feels a strong link with the Beirut scene and has been involved in many occasions there. It was also a “unique way to get closer to those who had become (his) friends” in those hard times. The participants were Sharif Sehnaoui (electric guitar), Mazen Kerbaj (trumpet), Raed Yassin (tapes & electronics), Christine Sehnaoui (alto sax), Charbel Haber (electric guitar), Jassem Hindi (electronics) and Bechir Saadé (nay). Putting aside any useless try to individuate a thread between the improvisations – except of course the presence of Zerang, who plays drums, darbuka and percussion – what remains is the chance of finding precious moments of enjoyment of raw materials and lucid interplay along several tentative juxtapositions of ideas that flourish as a direct consequence of the common ground shared by the artists. In that sense the duo with Yassin, a great combination of Arabic samples, incessant darbuka patterns and disobedient electronic eruptions, is plainly and simply a satisfying listen; the initial comparison between the most frictional aspects of Zerang’s playing and the quasi-Frithian guitar of Sharif Sehnaoui are pretty intriguing, too. Even more interesting is the duo with Haber who, in less than five minutes, alternates sounds that mesh crickets and electric drills from his strings and pickups. Everything is surpassed, though, by the single most enthralling fragment of the whole disc, around 5:30 of the piece with Hindi: a moment of total trance that words just can’t explain, all my activities suddenly put in standby mode. As usual with Al Maslakh, don’t expect anything less than uncontaminated, even if this can be a little bit taxing on your usual taste.
Z’EV – Rhythmajik (Small Voices)
I’ve never heard a record by Z’EV that could be defined a “listening pleasure”, except maybe for his fabulous collaborations with David Jackman; but there is something important that moves inside the rotating blades of this human weapon, whose music is based on numerology and is created following concrete principles which have to do with manifestations of life; to them, he takes out the most “mystical” characters preferring instead to lay bare the rhythmical phenomena per se. We’re entranced, mentally kidnapped by the sheer power of his percussive patterns and thundering drones. For the unprepared ones it could take a while to penetrate this music, which at first they could perceive as an amass of metallic outbursts accompanied by some tribal drumming; but those who know how to listen will be rewarded by a whole ecosystem of undisclosed meanings and mysterious shadows, a natural complexity which can’t be revealed with just one try. Once again Z’EV confirms himself as a master of the anti-ephemeral.
Z’EV – Production and Decay of spacial Relations vs. Reproduction and Decay of Spatial Relations (Die Stadt)
When I listen to Z’EV’s music – especially his earlier material – I can’t help but think to his artistic integrity and to the time frame in which I first approached his work, namely the second half of the 80s, an era when one could easily find his records in the same bins with the likes of Esplendor Geometrico and – of course – Asmus Tietchens. But this man knew better: he didn’t confine himself to a genre, he rather created one and, both through important collaborations (such as Glenn Branca) and the development of his own inimitable style, managed to carve an obscure but fundamental niche amidst the radical fringes of new music. This CD, contained in a LP cover, reissues the first studio album by Z’EV, originally released in 1981 by Backlash, with the addition of six new tracks composed in 2005. In this music, metal and skin are only two of the elements of a metropolitan paranoia, highlighted by a series of non-standard percussive designs that take their shamanic energy both from their textural mystique and the protagonist’s numerical knowledge. What sounds fortuitous is indeed gifted with a kind of fractal logic that mixes timbral resonance and rough pulse, often transforming a simple “beat” into a spectacular assemblage of pregnant rumbles and semi-structured clangours. It can sound ragged, destroy your aesthetical defenses, but it’s damn true – the quintessential educated violence. The first edition contains a bonus CD with three archival tracks from 1982, named “That was the year that was what it was”; the recording quality may not be that good (as Z’EV says, “at this time in history cassette was THE ubiquitous storage medium”) but metallic assaults and corrosive forces have nothing to envy to the “official” album; the ears buzz for hours after this full immersion. Unclassifiable as always, harsh as a sore throat, ungainly powerful. Still no religious conversion.
Z’EV / DAVID LINTON – Untitled (Die Stadt)
Scattered along its ever-growing discography, whose quality rating is never less than excellent, Die Stadt provides us from time to time with semi-obscure limited editions that are released in special occasions (mostly concerts organized in Bremen by Jochen Schwarz) and often contain music that’s as exciting as the most officially publicized albums. This collaboration between Z’EV and Linton is just that, a four-track full length CD – two pieces for each composer – with active reciprocal collaboration all over the place. Z’EV opens the dances with an odd-meter post-tribal rhythm recorded live in London in 1990 over which a cut-up of Rev. John Mac Arthur in full-predicatory mode is superimposed, to invent interesting definitions of “god” and “war” (listen carefully). The best comes in the following tracks, two long “suites” that start with disturbing frequencies, enticing us into believing that we’re entering drone territories, then leaving us naked and freezing in a mire of delusional coldness, harsh electronics and devalued spuriousness affecting an otherwise pretty calm development of the sonic mass; we’re at one and the same time strengthened and scared by an uncoiling violence that affirms its corroborating charm in gloomy atmospheres of delirious hypnosis. The last track could be described as post-disco minimalism, with Z’EV remixing Linton’s urban principles of obsession and transforming them into elegant patterns of submission to an inhuman beat. This is a truly great album and its spartan packaging doesn’t detract a iota from the emotional content of the music, which repeatedly reaches important altitudes without becoming too cerebral.
ZFP QUARTET – Ulrichsberg München Musik (Bruce’s Fingers)
“Improvised music of a quite extraordinary sophistication and richness”, recites the press release. Indeed it’s not easy to better synthesize what’s heard in this disc, which contains tracks from two different German concerts in 2006 by the quartet of Carlos Zingaro (violin, electronics), Marcio Mattos (cello, electronics), Simon H.Fell (double bass) and Mark Sanders (drums, percussion). The first and longest piece is a delightful mixture of refinement and vigour, at times recalling the work of Mersault during the most growling’n’droning sections – mostly courtesy of Fell’s powerful arco swings – but with a larger dose of unpredictable shifting towards disorder, made easier by the electronic dressing characterizing Zingaro and Mattos’ constant search for an off-the-border dialogue. Sanders, a sensitive percussionist under any circumstance, listens to the happening with intense respect and attention, ready to install floriferous bursts or soft caresses whenever the occasion arises. Jaunty four-way conversations, obscure evocations and indescribable overlapping of instrumental parts constitute a difficult crossword to solve, yet ZFP’s style is immediately visible and, should we feel the need to eviscerate the single components, several individual listening keys become progressively available to get better acquainted with the quartet’s impressive attitude. The “München” track represents the mystery touch of the album, and it probably reaches the highest points of “beauty” – if this still means something – with a series of hazy curtains and string-based uncertainties rapidly branching out in an almost scary, pre-explosive state that can’t be linked to anything even remotely similar. The final segment brings us back to a more concrete difference between spirit and flesh with a slight advantage for the latter, short durations and sudden alterations of the overall mood turning on the stroboscopic lights of a post-Schönberg nightmare that could tear an average modern music ensemble into shreds of toilet paper.
CARLOS ZINGARO / DOMINIQUE REGEF / WILBERT DE JOODE – Spectrum (Clean Feed)
Exanthemas and regurgitations, running away and running on empty to stand still at last, unremitting whirlwinds and reasonably calm drones. A game of paradoxical hypotheses is played without repentance by this special trio, recorded at the Spectrum Festival (Porto, 2004) in three lengthy improvisations that challenge any kind of cataloguing. Zingaro’s violin coils excavate and exasperate, hinting to the limits of a non-existent tonality only to let us visualize how tiresome the playing might be if that restriction had to be complied with. Implacably anarchic, the man’s systematic disfigurement of phrasing emphasizes the photoelectric temperament of the music, which seems to change whatever one tries to focus the attention on, almost responding at the smallest movement of the body. Daring disagreements come from Regef’s hurdy-gurdy, as he tries to set things on a vaguely more controllable level through periodic stases and erudite manipulations of a singular instrument, which in his hands can sting and cuddle while still entertaining hopes of minimalist acceptance. Atypical qualities keep coming into view also when bassist De Joode enters the picture, a firm clutch on the low-frequency register evidently unarguable, the arco as a propeller of collected forces finally finding a meeting point to recharge batteries and start yet another crucial trip to random destinations. Reciprocal respect – these guys do listen to each other, and it shows – and the ideal proportionality between the sonic details make of “Spectrum” an album to get pleasure from time and again.
