Released in a tiny edition of 60 copies – here’s a proper incitement to hunting – this magnificently titled CDR encloses fifteen tracks whose character is, for the large part, acoustically pliable in the “right” way. In truth, I myself love the same kind of notion that pushed Ian Holloway to the conception of this work, namely the gathering of studio leftovers that had not found a proper place on other projects. This reminds me of Paleozoic-like tape experiments that I have been willing to retrieve and eventually alter for years; but the courage to do this is still missing. On the contrary, the Welshman’s ideas maintain explicit attributes while clearly showing more-than-multifaceted compositional tendencies. Drones? Yes, there are – but not relaxing, rather “warped”. Grumbling sounds of slacked guitar strings? Check. Unshapely cut-ups of popular forms made to look as convulsive dances? Great, we have that. Bleeping electronics à la Darren Tate? Of course. What’s to be loved, too, is the “guess the influence” game that the music elicits, well aware that printing bull is a definite risk. We’ll try one, and leave it at that: Residents. Corresponding halos of incongruous distortion of reality seems to pervade these 70 minutes, this writer drowning like a wasp losing the battle against the orange soda in which she had dared to bath her body, attracted by a deceiving aroma. Nice stuff, needs to be reissued in a larger amount of exemplars.
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MASSIMO RICCI. TOUCHING EXTREMES. 