 |
|
Concessionaires, "Artificial Interface"
In theory, this doesn't seem like it should not be an especially noteworthy album, as Brad Rose is constantly collaborating with other musicians and has already amassed a vast, Merzbow-esque discography under many, many guises and I am fairly unfamiliar with his foil this time around (guitarist Pete Fosco).  Also, this is already the fourth Concessionaires release.  In reality, however, this duo conjures up one hell of a crushing, synth-heavy futuristic dystopia.
This is one of those extraordinarily rare times in which I fell hopelessly in love with an album within its first 30 seconds, as "Mirrorshades" is a staggering mechanized hellscape from start to finish.  The actual framework is quite simple (just an incredibly dense and ominous two-chord synth pattern), but the relentless pulsing and thumping and fluttering chaos that surrounds it elevates the piece into something both fearsome and mesmerizing. It sounds so disturbed, massive, and inhuman that it is almost impossible to reconcile that it originated from two friends convening for a rare, improvised recording session in Oklahoma.  I can't even guess what Fosco is doing, as nothing sounds even remotely like a guitar, unless he has some pedal that makes his playing sound like a malfunctioning spaceship getting sucked into a black hole and crushed.
Unsurprisingly, Rose and Fosco are not able to replicate that scary triumph six more times, though the lush and brooding "Gazelocked" comes pretty close.  However, they are able to make a graceful transition from "brilliant" and "startling" to merely "excellent."  There are a number of obvious reference points for the rest of the album's aesthetic, like Tangerine Dream's Zeit or Phaedra, Vangelis's Blade Runner soundtrack, or the bleak rumblings of Lustmord, but Concessionaires are different enough from their space music forebears to carve out their own distinct niche.  In some ways, Artificial Interface is a skillful combination/continuation of all three of the aforementioned artists' work: Tangerine Dream's relentlessly repeating patterns; Vangelis' melodic futurism; and Lustmord's enormity and heft.  In other ways, however, it seems new–like contemporary drone music suffused with some serious deep space dread and alienation.  In any case, it is unexpectedly muscular, multilayered, concise, and devoid of any annoying synth noodling (which is something I absolute cannot stand).
While I haven't heard Concessionaires' other three releases, which were only released as very limited cassette editions, I suspect a lot of the focus and success of Artificial Interface is due to the band's new addition: producer Matt McDowell.  By the duo's own admission, this album is the distillation of several hours of long (and occasionally messy) jams, yet it certainly doesn't sound like it.  The only real clue is that each piece is essentially built upon a single motif, though that single motif is usually multi-layered and textured.  Having a talented third party carve away the meandering rise and fall of the improvisations to isolate a few minutes of magic makes all the difference in the world and McDowell seems to have handled that difficult task unerringly: these pieces are sculpted and mastered for maximum impact.  Certainly, some of the pieces are stronger than others (the languid come-down "Flat Pink Octagon" being another highlight), but the better pieces are easily among the best new music that I have heard this year.
Samples:
 
