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Achim Wollscheid, "60 x X"
Ritornell
60 x X is the product of a 2002 live broadcast in which Wollscheidengaged every playback device at Frankfurt's Radio X in the continuousplay of pre-recorded music, directing each into his computer and usingthem as sound sources for two hours of live manipulation. At one hour,this disc includes an abbreviated version of the broadcast, dividedinto 60 one-minute sections (hence the title). Upon reading the vagueconcept (something about incorporating new changes in musicbroadcasting and distribution into a "flexible organization of sonicstructures"), and glimpsing the painfully self-referential sleeve art,I braced myself for what was sure to be another inward-looking bore.Too many times I have been seduced by intriguing concepts orexecutions, only to find bland music, incapable of rescue by thecredibility of its origin. Surprisingly, 60 x X is quite the opposite.The piece is downright gripping, progressing in a way that is nevertedious, and Wollscheid's process is more of an afterthought, hardlyindicated by the music. Unlike Philip Jeck and others, Wollscheid isnot interested in looping or layering sound fragments for his newcreations. Any sense of the original material is lost in a shiftinglattice of clicks and cuts that increases in dimension and complexityas the music develops. The sounds of discs skipping occupy theforeground for most of the hour, though they never slip into lullingatmospherics or get lost in too much repetition. Neither is 60 x X ahopeless glitch-fest lacking any structural component. Wollscheidsustains an impressive control throughout, cycling through uniquecall-and-response sections, melancholic passages, and anxious noisebits, while keeping an keen ear turned towards the piece as a whole.From the tiniest of bricks, he has built an elaborate city ofcaptivating spaces, not to go unvisited.
60 x X is the product of a 2002 live broadcast in which Wollscheidengaged every playback device at Frankfurt's Radio X in the continuousplay of pre-recorded music, directing each into his computer and usingthem as sound sources for two hours of live manipulation. At one hour,this disc includes an abbreviated version of the broadcast, dividedinto 60 one-minute sections (hence the title). Upon reading the vagueconcept (something about incorporating new changes in musicbroadcasting and distribution into a "flexible organization of sonicstructures"), and glimpsing the painfully self-referential sleeve art,I braced myself for what was sure to be another inward-looking bore.Too many times I have been seduced by intriguing concepts orexecutions, only to find bland music, incapable of rescue by thecredibility of its origin. Surprisingly, 60 x X is quite the opposite.The piece is downright gripping, progressing in a way that is nevertedious, and Wollscheid's process is more of an afterthought, hardlyindicated by the music. Unlike Philip Jeck and others, Wollscheid isnot interested in looping or layering sound fragments for his newcreations. Any sense of the original material is lost in a shiftinglattice of clicks and cuts that increases in dimension and complexityas the music develops. The sounds of discs skipping occupy theforeground for most of the hour, though they never slip into lullingatmospherics or get lost in too much repetition. Neither is 60 x X ahopeless glitch-fest lacking any structural component. Wollscheidsustains an impressive control throughout, cycling through uniquecall-and-response sections, melancholic passages, and anxious noisebits, while keeping an keen ear turned towards the piece as a whole.From the tiniest of bricks, he has built an elaborate city ofcaptivating spaces, not to go unvisited.
