There is no “god”, there is no “devil”. There are just brains that process data at different speeds, and brains that do not work at all. One might connect the so-called divine aspects of awareness – or a diabolical lack of the same cognizance – to selected zones of cerebral organization, and behave accordingly. Welcoming the inexplicable, making the implausible a part of one’s normality. Or just refusing the unusual and/or the new. Or, perhaps worse as we refer to art, choosing musical uncommunicativeness as the easy way out, as opposed to the silence of the mind. Namely, the primary condition for the acceptance of hard-to-swallow enhancing values.
Then there are those who toil on a music piece to render its implicit conditions more pliable than believable, still remaining in the ambit of acoustic tangibleness. These people set bars at next-to-impossible heights, thus expanding someone else’s conception of what can and cannot be done in terms of audible representation of a reality too deep to be described with idiotically abstruse chains of sentences. Or, in other words, they trace the border between higgledy-piggledy pointlessness and scarily punctilious arrangement (including an improvisational context, the latter being the place where an instinctive “arrangement” separates the winners from the losers).
As you can see from the credits, Spukhafte Fernwirkung was graced by what the journalistic commonplace defines as a “stellar lineup”. It comprises a long live segment (the title track) executed by fORCH with dumbfounding exactitude, in which increasingly intricate combinations of duos, trios and quartets in conjunction with computerized treatments occupy any acquirable space in the aural prospect. The second chapter “Hmyz” is the studio version of a FURT composition – also performed in concert – originating from the same sources. I believe that most followers of this blog are not in desperate need of being drilled again on how Phil Minton and Ute Wasserman’s hyper-voices never cease to amaze, or reading the umpteenth pseudo-elucidation about John Butcher’s innate multiphonic tendencies. Once more, what needs to be stressed in this circumstance is the concept of “organization”, which in the hands of Barrett, Obermayer and cohorts takes into account the most aleatory traits of human/instrumental manifestation to “encourage the occurrence of moments of discovery and astonishment”.
So, let me tell you what happened as I was sitting, wireless headphones on, in front of the trees that face my main window. The innumerable ramifications wavering under the good auspices of a gentle wind were willing to host an equally incalculable number of sonic shards. An unspoken feeling of unity was delightfully interrupted, in separate occasions, by a snoopy turtle dove (apparently attracted by this immobile bald-headed guy with a black plastic protuberance on his top) and a marvelous hawk hovering around the woods. Spasmodic multi-layer dynamics and transitional architectures lodged yours truly in a cocoon of rational interchangeability imbued with beautiful humanity. Imitative calls and responses and incendiary crescendos dictated a furious pace. Mnemonic incorporation was not an option.
The term is “wholeness”.
We could go on ranting for hours, but it’s not necessary. I’ll simply recall Richard Barrett’s mentioning of Roland Kayn among his favorites. The music contained by this CD, although definitely improved by “the compositional input of everyone in the group”, is partially similar – more in essence than dress – to the late German maverick’s creations. An egoless multisound animal whose self-development shatters and scatters the concepts of commonness, positively improving your sensibility towards the surrounding environment. It also represents a fine example of “meditative ontogeny” born from the sparkle of intelligent musicianship, a momentous expression of evolution that must not remain concealed.