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Dean Roberts, "And The Black Moths Play The Grand Cinema"
Staubgold
As the dust of Mille Plateaux's collapse settles, it's easy to forgetabout the number of great releases from the label's more experimentaloff-shoot Ritornell that will also be lost. And though I'm not surethat Staubgold is game for a larger reissue series of that label's lostgems, they have certainly chosen one of the best for this singlerepress, complete with redone artwork. Black Moths was Roberts' last "solo" record before 2003's beautiful Be Mine Tonight. It was recorded shortly after a couple rather computer-centric discs (All Cracked Medias and Moth Park)which found Roberts exploring his usual set-up of prepared guitar,hi-hat-heavy percussion, and plunked piano to alienating extremes,instruments deftly chopped and pasted into mock mini-explosions, acoalescence of chiming, shredded sound bits with instrumentalidentities and roles filled only at a bare minimum and movements withina piece arriving in anxious, feigned, and too-often meaninglesssuccession. The "meta-language" Roberts describes himself as creatingon these releases, while unique, can also be frustrating as it providesno easy information about the direction of a particular piece. Often asong's entire progression consists of repetitious, segmented bursts inwhich the interaction and improvisation of the instruments are boxedwithin simple, stunted meditations on a single tonal or textural idea.Roberts' smoky, even ragged playing style, steeped in years of droningimprov with his first group Thela, seems an immediate signifier oflonely and fragile territories, but the religious structuring of theseearlier releases makes for a bizarre conflict of interest as anytangible mood is erased by the calculated and incessant playings off-ofor into a cryptic formal diagram. For Black Moths, Roberts has notgiven up on the high-concept of his early works; rather, he chooses toup the ante by forcing more elements of traditional rock or"song"-styled composition into his already idea-heavy mix. The "BlackMoths," consisting of Matt Valentine, Tim Barnes (of Tower Recordings)and cellist Charles Curtis are not a support band assembled toindulge any new-found sweetness in Roberts' sensibility. They appear asif in the imagined realm of the Spiders from Mars, brought together atRoberts' whim to carry his ideas into rock (or at least free-folk)parody. The "grand cinema" of the title puts the players on stage,weaving rock moves into the reams of static glitch, cello groan, andbillowing guitar squall that unfold out and out, in increasinglyforeign structure over the 40 minutes. Roberts sings over a few of thetrack divisions (marking only pauses along a solid body of shifting andcycling sounds), one time breaking desperately into Eno's "Cindy TellsMe," another bursting with the glammy refrain, "How they adoooore you!"Barnes' percussion and Valentine's bass manage also to sound almostmanic, amazing given the album's formal restraints, which struggle toguide everything toward a sprawling digital submergence where "natural"cracks and pauses are prematurely filled, and new, unsuspected gapsopened. Black Moth's theatrical component does little more thanadd another layer to Roberts' unique sonic amalgam, but it is enough tomake this disc one of his most accessible and most complex, preparingwell for Be Mine Tonight where the artist's bizarrecompositional structures find just the right counterpoint in fragilesong-craft and production detailed enough to make the music sound trulyotherworldly.
As the dust of Mille Plateaux's collapse settles, it's easy to forgetabout the number of great releases from the label's more experimentaloff-shoot Ritornell that will also be lost. And though I'm not surethat Staubgold is game for a larger reissue series of that label's lostgems, they have certainly chosen one of the best for this singlerepress, complete with redone artwork. Black Moths was Roberts' last "solo" record before 2003's beautiful Be Mine Tonight. It was recorded shortly after a couple rather computer-centric discs (All Cracked Medias and Moth Park)which found Roberts exploring his usual set-up of prepared guitar,hi-hat-heavy percussion, and plunked piano to alienating extremes,instruments deftly chopped and pasted into mock mini-explosions, acoalescence of chiming, shredded sound bits with instrumentalidentities and roles filled only at a bare minimum and movements withina piece arriving in anxious, feigned, and too-often meaninglesssuccession. The "meta-language" Roberts describes himself as creatingon these releases, while unique, can also be frustrating as it providesno easy information about the direction of a particular piece. Often asong's entire progression consists of repetitious, segmented bursts inwhich the interaction and improvisation of the instruments are boxedwithin simple, stunted meditations on a single tonal or textural idea.Roberts' smoky, even ragged playing style, steeped in years of droningimprov with his first group Thela, seems an immediate signifier oflonely and fragile territories, but the religious structuring of theseearlier releases makes for a bizarre conflict of interest as anytangible mood is erased by the calculated and incessant playings off-ofor into a cryptic formal diagram. For Black Moths, Roberts has notgiven up on the high-concept of his early works; rather, he chooses toup the ante by forcing more elements of traditional rock or"song"-styled composition into his already idea-heavy mix. The "BlackMoths," consisting of Matt Valentine, Tim Barnes (of Tower Recordings)and cellist Charles Curtis are not a support band assembled toindulge any new-found sweetness in Roberts' sensibility. They appear asif in the imagined realm of the Spiders from Mars, brought together atRoberts' whim to carry his ideas into rock (or at least free-folk)parody. The "grand cinema" of the title puts the players on stage,weaving rock moves into the reams of static glitch, cello groan, andbillowing guitar squall that unfold out and out, in increasinglyforeign structure over the 40 minutes. Roberts sings over a few of thetrack divisions (marking only pauses along a solid body of shifting andcycling sounds), one time breaking desperately into Eno's "Cindy TellsMe," another bursting with the glammy refrain, "How they adoooore you!"Barnes' percussion and Valentine's bass manage also to sound almostmanic, amazing given the album's formal restraints, which struggle toguide everything toward a sprawling digital submergence where "natural"cracks and pauses are prematurely filled, and new, unsuspected gapsopened. Black Moth's theatrical component does little more thanadd another layer to Roberts' unique sonic amalgam, but it is enough tomake this disc one of his most accessible and most complex, preparingwell for Be Mine Tonight where the artist's bizarrecompositional structures find just the right counterpoint in fragilesong-craft and production detailed enough to make the music sound trulyotherworldly.
