DANIEL MENCHE – Desiccation

Self Release

I might start by telling everybody that Daniel Menche’s creations are among the few that urge yours truly to crank up the car stereo volume whenever they materialize in my daily drive to Rome, not to mention at home. There’s something special in watching the sunrise (or even an ominously grey sky, for that matter), observe the flock of starlings depicting unbelievable elliptical figures, and ignoring the truck drivers flashing their headlights from behind while being submerged by Menche’s all-encompassing roars.

Another essential aspect to consider is the man’s willingness to try and use practically everything in order to create forceful droning materials. Over the decades we have heard Menche in action with percussion, metals, bowed strings, children choirs, pianos and so much more. Today we’re relishing this new baby, four extended movements entirely conceived via monophonic analog synthesizer. The Oregonian adds his name to the list of experimental musicians extracting precious juices from analog synthesis; good for us, after having been recently lulled by various showpieces generated through the same means by people who are deeply respected here. Names such as Jim O’Rourke, Thomas Ankersmit, Robert Piotrowicz, Thomas Lehn, Alan Courtis and Bill Thompson must be held responsible for keeping this writer perennially alerted in regard to the infinite possibilities of learning. The constant intertwining of complex upper partials inside a constellation of uncontaminated resonance enhanced by intense pulsation represents the most appropriate way to (partially) identify the type of information desperately craved by the average student of shallowness.

Unfortunately we still have this small contradiction, according to which a so-called cosmic impeccability is inevitably associated to the presumed sublimity of “divine music” dating from centuries ago, or some sort of nondescript “vibration”. So much for the evolution theoretically warranted by the science of the future; a future that nobody will ever see, unless one counts the delusions of dysfunctional individuals whose residual intelligence has been raped time and again. Thus I am not going to invite the gullible inspectors of existential meanders to give a listen to this recording, for it could bring problems. But those who were born with a brain impermeable to verbal nonsense need nothing but setting aside the required quiet hours destined to Menche’s albums. This one is regal.

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