Being thankful for an earful.
Brand new music by Marie Davidson, Niecy Blues (feat. Joy Guidry), CEL, Marisa Anderson and Luke Schneider, Stina Stjern, Carmen Villain, Murcof, A Lily, and Far Golden Pavilions, with music from the vaults by Tomaga, Ozzobia, Jan Jelinek.
Sushi photo by Lindsay.
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In recent years, Benjamin Finger has become quite a prolific and amusingly elusive artist to try to keep up with, releasing a steady stream of handmade limited editions or small vinyl runs on various European labels. He has also expanded his palette considerably from the gorgeous psych-collages of his debut (Woods of Broccoli), alternately exploring piano miniatures, off-kilter pop experiments, and an occasional stab at gleefully garbled dance music (and sometimes ingeniously blurring the lines that separate those various facets). My favorite side of Finger’s art remains his collage side, however, so I was delighted to find that For Those About To Love was a substantial plunge back down that particular rabbit hole. No one else does sound collage like Finger, as his unshakeable pop sensibility remains intact no matter how deconstructed and lysergic things get, resulting in a lovely snow-globe dream-world swirling with glimpses of warmth, tenderness, and sublime melody.
As alert readers may have deduced from the title, For Those About to Love is an album with a strong theme running throughout its nine pieces, as Finger gamely attempts to "journey into the mysteries of the heart."Such a sincere and ambitious endeavor is admittedly extremely treacherous territory in the realm of underground/experimental music, but it is also a fertile ground for inspiration and deep emotion that occasionally yields some truly great work (like Jefre Cantu-Ledesma's Love is a Stream, for example).Finger, to his credit, proves to be up to the task, as he deftly sidesteps the saccharine and the predictable in favor of sustained and delirious phantasmagoric plunge into a woozy and flicking haze of nervousness, worry, joy, pain, tenderness, and intimacy.In some of the better pieces, all of those threads seamlessly intertwine and blur together in a complexly textural and emotionally resonant cocktail.The opening "Lipstick Shades" is an especially fine example of Finger's deliciously disorienting and abstract necromancy, as a simple piano melody quickly gives way to a billowing psychedelic maelstrom of swooping, cooing female vocals; brooding drones; and a host of strange backwards scrapes, buried loops and snatches of melody.It feels like I put on an familiar record and it inexplicably began playing backwards to reveal a hypnotic and ghostly world of previously inaudible sounds, plunging me into an uneasy dream state.
While "Lipstick Shades" is certainly representative of the overall aesthetic that pervades Love, Finger’s deliciously blurred, shimmering, and psychedelic world is also a varied one, as he finds a way to imbue each of these surreal vignettes with its own character.The richest vein surfaces in the middle of the album, as Finger hits a three-song run of lushly immersive and dreamy nirvana.On the achingly beautiful "Ultraviolet Light," languorous female vocals from Inga-Lill Farstad and Lynn Fister seductively intertwine and blur together in a time-stretched and deconstructed soul jam beset by a chorus of chirping birds."Transparent Mind," on the other hand, weaves an obsessively repeating and complexly layered loop of gauzy cooing vocals that feels like modern classical minimalism mingled with submerged synth swoops that resemble a digitized jungle expedition.Elsewhere, "Eyeball Humidity" mingles together Satie-esque snatches of piano melody with a heady wash of shuddering drones, eerie feedback, childlike yowls, and disorienting field recordings.It is easily one of the more lysergic mindfucks on the album, as its amorphous structure seamlessly drifts from lovely chord swells to blooping and space-y synth motifs to squalls of gnarled vocals and echoing voices without ever lingering particularly long on any one motif.Obviously, I like some bits more than others and wish they stuck around longer, but the magic lies in how ephemeral and elusive all the individual pieces seem.It is like getting an unexpected glimpse of a wonderful memory, then quickly losing it again in the roiling entropy of the subconscious.Curiously, however, my favorite piece is the closing "Shrink Into Love," which dispenses almost entirely with layered psychedelia in favor of just a stuttering and beautiful chord progression unfolding beneath a haze of angelic vocal drift, albeit one punctuated with some unexpectedly sharp and warbly textures.It might be simplest piece on the album, but it can afford to be, as it is built upon the strongest motif.
Some of the other songs do not quite work as well or feel more like vaporous interludes than substantial pieces, but how often Finger decisively hits the mark is somewhat irrelevant, as the degree to which he succeeds overall is far more intriguing.With For Those About to Love, Finger attempts to say the ineffable, quixotically setting out to capture the impossible complexity and nuance of being in love and sometimes unexpectedly succeeding.To a larger degree, however, this album is even better at evoking the elusive, fragile, and unpredictable nature of memory, unfolding as an alternately lovely and painful flow of decontextualized, recontextualized, and indistinct glimpses of poignant moments or intimations of intense feelings.As such, this is probably Finger's most ambitious and thematically absorbing album from an artistic standpoint.It also one of his best albums in general, achieving the sustained depth, immersiveness, and rich attention to detail that is essential for a great headphone album.More importantly, this album captures what is unique about Benjamin Finger's art extremely well, as he approaches sound collage with a guileless humanity and depth of feeling rarely seen in the experimental music milieu, crafting complex and cerebral soundscapes that are soulfully direct rather than obscured by ambiguous artifice.
 
Over the course of the last decade, Dean McPhee has quietly and unhurriedly established himself as one of most compelling and unique solo guitar artists around, weaving gorgeously meditative reveries with a masterful use of ghostly delay effects. This latest album, his first since 2015, compiles remastered versions of three pieces that have surfaced on several elusive Folklore Tapes collections, as well as a pair of new pieces. All are characteristically fine, but both "The Devil’s Knell" and the epic "Four Stones" rank among the most mesmerizingly sublime work that McPhee has yet recorded, making this his most essential album to date.
Hood Faire
The opening "The Blood of St. John" dates back to Folklore Tapes' 2016 homage to midsummer traditions, Crown of Light.In many ways, it is a quintessential Dean McPhee piece, as it feels like a kind of transcendent, slow-motion blues that unfolds over a bleary haze of shimmering delay.Even that description is exasperatingly reductionist though, as McPhee's crystalline cascades of serpentine melodies seamlessly pull in shades of more exotic influences from Mali and Morocco to reach towards something far more ecstatic than a mere guitar solo.The following "Devil’s Knell" also originates from one of Folklore Tapes' seasonal collections (Midwinter Rites and Revelries), but takes a more languorous and drone-influenced approach, capturing McPhee's work at its most achingly gorgeous.It initially takes shape as a lovely, glimmering fog of shivering chord swells before unexpectedly blossoming into a tumbling descending melody evanescently trailed by a ghostly afterimage.That tactic has sparingly surfaced before on other Dean McPhee records and it remains his most dazzling trick, as the overlapping and out-of-phase doppelganger melody is beautifully disorienting and creates a wonderfully dreamlike wake of hanging overtones.The album's first side draws to a close with yet another Folklore contribution, "Rule of Threes," borrowed from their 2012 collection devoted to the Pendle Witch Trials of 1612.While it is unmistakably a Dean McPhee song due to its chiming clarity and dreamily time-stretched pacing, it also clearly harkens back to an earlier phase in his evolution, as it is much more structured and conventionally melodic than his recent work.It is neither better nor worse for that, yet it feels more like a fantasia on an existing piece of traditional music than something that is spontaneously and intuitively conjured into being.
That said, the newer "Danse Macabre" is also quite structured, as it is built from an obsessively looping and rippling minor key arpeggio.I doubt anyone could ever mistake it for an appropriated piece of traditional music, however, as that one chord endlessly loops in hypnotic stasis and gives the piece a strangely lagging and off-kilter pulse that creates a disorienting sense of unreality.Over the top of that unusual backdrop, however, McPhee unfurls a sleepily lovely and melancholy glissando-heavy melody.The odd, frozen-in-time looping structure of "Danse Macabre" makes it feel more like an interlude than one of the album's more substantial pieces, but it is certainly a beguiling one.McPhee saves his best and most ambitious work for last though, as the title piece is a slow-burning and gently pulsing epic that transforms from one gently simmering motif to another as it builds towards its climactic final theme.Notably, "Four Stones" makes prominent use of a new element in McPhee’s palette: a bass drum.It is used so subtly that it is easy to forget that it is even there, but it sneakily gives the piece a somewhat more muscular pulse than he would have gotten solely from looping bass notes.Overall, it is quite an impressive work both compositionally and performance-wise, given that everything is performed live with no overdubbing: McPhee nimbly alternates between different textures (clean melodies, feedback-swathed sustained tones, and ringing harmonics) while simultaneously maintaining a strong central thread, sneaking in occasional chord changes, and keeping a steady kick drum pulse with one of his feet.It is quite a juggling act.Nevertheless, all of that is merely the pleasantly absorbing prelude to the quietly dazzling final movement, as a glacially descending cascade of harmonized tones coheres into a spectral and eerily beautiful dance.
That last bit nicely illustrates why I have been enraptured by Dean McPhee's work for so long (and also why he fits so seamlessly into the Folklore Tapes milieu): at any given time, there are always a handful of visionary guitarists who carve out their own compelling and distinctive niche, as well as many more who exhibit virtuosic technique or write consistently great songs.McPhee’s work checks off all three of those boxes, but his greatest moments reach another plane altogether where it feels like he is channeling something much deeper, more timeless, and almost supernatural.It is amusing to imagine some kind of ancient sorcery emerging from such modern gear as a Telecaster and some echo and delay pedals, but it is also easy to imagine McPhee being tried as a witch if he had gotten these sounds out of a stringed instrument in Pendle circa 1612–there is a layer beyond mere melody and harmony here that feels like time itself is blurring and the veil of reality has partially dissolved to offer a glimpse of something more mysterious.Needless to say, that sublime feat of illusion appeals to me immensely.This album is wonderful.
 
Dais Records is proud to unveil the new dark pop masterpiece from artist and composer Tor Lundvall. His first vocal album since 2009’s Sleeping and Hiding, and following the release of two instrumental albums and three CD box sets since that time, Tor returns with an album of beautifully intricate sadness and reflection: A Dark Place.
Born in 1968 in Wyckoff, NJ, Tor Lundvall is a painter and ambient composer. The son of Blue Note Records legend Bruce Lundvall, Tor was exposed to artwork, music, and creativity from a young age, and began his professional painting and music output in the late '80s.
Widely known for his dark imagery and thoughtful, provocative soundscapes, Tor Lundvall’s artwork is all-encompassing. His music, when paired with his paintings, creates a world within which one could easily disappear.
An intensely private individual, Tor Lundvall eschews the gallery circuit and live performances for his private studio in Eastern Long Island, NY, preferring to show his artwork privately and focus on studio production and writing without the pressures of the audience and all it encompasses.
Dais Records is honored to provide another glimpse into his world through his recordings. We hope you find it as special and as unforgettable as we do.
More information can be found here.
Air Lows is the debut solo album by Silvia Kastel.
The Italian artist has been a fixture of the underground since her precocious teens, clocking up many miles in Control Unit with Ninni Morgia ("It’s like Catherine Deneuve dumped two cases of post-Repulsion psychiatric notes over Pere Ubu’s Dub Housing, lit the fuse and, ahem, stood well back" – Julian Cope), including collaborations with the likes of Smegma, Factrix, Gary Smith, Aki Onda and Gate (Michael Morley of The Dead C). Through her own label, Ultramarine, she has released music by the likes of Raymond Dijkstra, Blood Stereo and Bene Gesserit.
Both solo and in her work with others, Kastel has explored the outer limits and inner workings of no wave, industrial, dub, extreme electronics, free rock and improvisation. Air Lows – which follows the cassette releases Love Tape (2011), Voice Studies 20 (2015) and The Gap (2016) – is both her fullest and most refined offering to date, a work of vivid, isolationist electronics which draws deeply on her past experience but assuredly breaks new ground.
Prompted by a late-flowering interest in techno and club music, Kastel sought to create something which combines a steady rhythmic pulse with the otherworldly sonorities of musique concrete, and avant-garde synth sounds inspired by Japanese minimalism and techno-pop (Haruomi Hosono’s Philharmony being a particular favourite). The formal artifice of muzak / elevator music, the intros and outros of generic popular songs, the extreme light-heavy contrasts of jungle, the creative sampling of hardcore, and the very "human" synths in the jazz of Herbie Hancock’s Sextant and Sun Ra: all these things were touchstones for Air Lows' conception and composition. All strains of music addressing – and complicating – the relationship between the human and the technological. By extension, visual inspirations also proved important: anime, and the avant-garde fashion of Rei Kawakubo. What does that shirt or dress sound like?
Though used sparingly, Kastel’s voice remains her key instrument, whether subject to dissociative digital manipulations as on "Bruell," delivering matter-of-fact spoken monologues, or providing splashes of pure tonal colour. Recorded between her expansive Italian studio and a more compact, ersatz set-up in Berlin, Air Lows gradually takes on some of the character of the German capital: you can hear the wide streets and empty spaces, the seepage of never-ending nightlife, the loneliness. Air Lows is The Wizard of Oz in reverse: the glorious technicolour J-pop deconstructons of its first half leading inexorably to the icy noir of "Spiderwebs" and "Concrete Void." These later tracks are reminiscent of 2015’s magnificent 39 12", Kastel in the role of numbed, nihilistic chanteuse stalking dank, murky tunnels of reverb and sub-bass. But there is contradiction and emotional ambiguity to Air Lows from the outset, and throughout: a sense of both infinite space and acute claustrophobia; energy and inertia; fluency and restraint.
Out now on Blackest Ever Black.
Written during what Dimitris Papadatos, aka Jay Glass Dubs, describes as "an adventurous and bold period," and holding material issued on tape by various labels between 2015-2016, the Dubs compilation frames a singular, stripped-down take on classic dub forms, wherein Jay Glass Dubs perceptibly retains the sound’s heavy function and mystic qualities, but subtly updates its palette with a range of nods to a myriad of unexpected, angular styles.
The results form a sort of ghostly, filleted subtraction of classic dub architecture, all plasmic tones and diaphanous, boneless structures buoyed by an often overwhelming, yet somehow intangible bass presence. Beyond the obvious, thematic ligature that connects the material, which was all recorded within a very short period of time, the artist also suggests there is an underlying, encrypted similarity to the material which is "merely apparent to me," and awaits much closer investigation from keen ears.
From Jay's eponymous 2015 debut for Hylé tapes, listeners will encounter the heaving smudge of Definition Dub, the serpentine, Coil-like digital delays of "Grumpy Dub," and a grime drone drill "Depression Dub." Off the II tape for THRHNDRDSVNTNN comes the darkwave synths and militant step of "Magazine Dub" recalling a gauzier Equiknoxx production, next to the bass-less scudder, "Detrimental Dub" and the shoegazing bloom of "Daria Dub," while his III tape tees up some abyssal highlights in the vertiginous "Hilton Dub," the melancholy, Basic Channel-scoped scale of "Sieben Dub," and the HTRK-esque starkness of "Everlasting Dub."
Exclusive to the set is "Perfumed Dub," recorded in 2017 and pointing to vast, layered, atmospheric directions for a timeless project which is only just hitting its stride.
Out now on Ecstatic.
12k is very happy to announce a new LP from long-time label favorite and ever-elusive Shuttle358. With Field, Shuttle358’s Dan Abrams returns to the beautiful roots he layed down with his now-classic Frame (12k1011, 2000) which Alternative Press heralded as "Ranking alongside Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works II and Eno's Music for Airports in its evocation of imaginary space.", and which Boomkat (UK) called "Shuttle358's undisputed masterpiece." His distinct human imprint on the highly digital sounds of the microsound and clicks and cuts movement of the time played out across his other releases as well including Optimal LP (12k1005, 1999), Chessa (12k1030, 2004) and Understanding Wildlife (Mille Plateaux, 2002).
It is in this specific space and through splintered memories from the dawn of the 2000s that brings Shuttle358 back to his early explorations with Field. Specifically, those sounds nestled in computers from the late '90s running period software and "graced"by the lo-fi color of early DSP algorithms. Abrams deliberately takes advantage of slow CPU cycles and crashes on old computers to piece together a framework of disjointed rhythms and melodic loops that sound like they're crawling and skittering from a new digital dystopia. This landscape unveils elements that made his early work so powerful by the way he combines the broken with the beautiful. Deep rhythms made from truncated transients provide the foundation for ghostly vocal snippets and the signature musical ambience that defines the Shuttle358 atmosphere.
In a way, Field can be seen as a rebirth of the glitch, a modern take on the captivating microsound movement of the early 2000s and a powerful statement from Abrams who connects the dots and further deepens and expands his sonic story.
Out now on 12k.
On first listen, Lou Rebecca's debut EP sounds like an unabashedly pop-centric record: all vintage synth leads, bass sequences and obvious digital drum machines. Closer listening reveals more layers, however, and while it is no doubt intended to be pop music, there is an additional, subversive depth to the sound that cannot usually be expected from music that so heavily hinges on memorable hooks and melodies.
Part of this added depth may be the role that Parisian by way of Austin, Texas artist plays in her music.Rather than just singing (which she does exceptionally well in both English and her native French), she also plays most of the instruments, writes all of the songs, and even arranges her own video choreography.It is this hands-on attention to detail that can take the synthy, 1980s pop throwback "Tonight" into more complex realms of weird electronics and tinges of experimental sound lurking just beneath the uptempo veneer.
The lengthier "Neverending" also demonstrates more of Rebecca's diverse repertoire.With a piano lead, she blends in some excellent synth sounds and catchy drum programming, but as a whole the mix is kept open and sparse, letting all of the instruments, as well as her vocals, breathe and establish their own space.Switching vocals between French and English, the song builds to bigger, more complex and dramatic sequences leading to its conclusion.
Space is also utilized expertly on "Fantôme."Lead by a simple but memorable music box like melody, she delivers her beautiful vocals in French, with added electronic and synth accents to it, giving a great sense of depth from a stripped-down arrangement."If You Can" even features a bit of saxophone courtesy of Sarah Malika Boudissa, cementing its 1980s pop credibility but, again, careful production and nuanced arrangement give it a sense of subtlety that could otherwise be lost.
Given its shamelessly pop leanings, Lou Rebecca's debut may not appeal to the synth folks who like their songs dour and depressing, but there is much more here than meets the eye.Sure it is full of memorable choruses and catchy melodies, but its strength lies in its production and attention to detail.Even as someone who normally is not into music this light and upbeat, I found a lot to enjoy.
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As Die Stadt's brilliant reissue campaign nears its end (it looks like about two more remain in the 18 disc series), this double disc compilation covers the first and fourth collaborations Asmus Tietchens had with UK artist Terry Burrows, the first album from 1986 (Watching the Burning Bride) and its 1998 reworking (Burning the Watching Bride). The earlier album is perhaps the most fascinating, as it clearly captures both Tietchens' early synth-heavy rhythmic style (the Sky and Discos Esplendor Geometricos eras), and heralds the more abstract direction his work would soon take.
Watching the Burning Bride is the first of four thematically linked works, with volume two being Tietchens’ Abfleischung (a previous release in this campaign) and the third Burrows' The Whispering Scale, all of which shared similar artwork and shared source material and instrumentation.The collaboration that produced this album is one rarely needed these days:postal mail.The two would record their own parts as source material, and then ship off to the other to rework.The contrast between the two artists is also a major facet:by this point Tietchens had been recording for around two decades and had built a rather technologically advanced studio with Okko Bekker, while Burrows was young and early in his career, producing most of his recordings on an 8 track in his bedroom.
The final product of these two very different working conditions is a seamless blend, however.Some of the songs clearly show the mark of Tietchens' early 1980s sense of rhythm:"Bride 2" (each piece was originally represented by an abstract symbol, here they are numbered) is a short bit that builds up to the industrial-ish sound he cultivated on his releases on Esplendor Geometrico's label before falling apart very quickly."Bride 10" also features this similar sense of rhythm, lurking more beneath a reverberated sci-fi soundtrack sound that heralds the more abstract works that Tietchens would later be involved in.
Some of these pieces also bring up directions that Tietchens and Burows could have gone in, but did not.On "Bride 4," heavily featured is Burrow’s then-new DX7 synth and, surprisingly enough, drums.The song comes together almost like a very strangely produced John Carpenter or Goblin soundtrack that is painfully too short, with the following piece running with these elements and putting them together in a more abstract, more disturbing framework."Bride 12" is similar in mood, but not in approach:a collage of rattling spring reverb and metallic clanking that somehow gels into a strangely melodic piece.
There are a few bizarre moments to be had on this album as well, and I mean that in the most positive of ways.For "Bride 7," Tietchens’ vintage drum machine and synths form the basis, with the addition of dubby bass guitar and actual vocals from Burrows, although limited to the span of only two minutes.Tietchens himself is responsible for the addition of some female vocals (a tapeloop of "some hippies singing" according to the liner notes) on "Bride 6," giving a bit of unlikely humanity within the distant clanking and distant, droning space.Two bonus songs are appended to this disc, "Torso 1" and "Torso 2."Apparently these are some of the untouched source materials used, and they are rather strange combinations of noisy orchestra hits and cheap MIDI drum programming.
Burning the Watching Bride appeared some twelve years later, with each artist taking one side of the album and reworking the material based on the newer technologies available to both artists.Burrows’ side, "Bride 23" (the numbering continues from disc one) takes the form of a single 23 minute composition that utilizes all of the elements from the album, with some tasteful processing and treatments.The final product is in some ways reminiscent of a "megamix," keeping some elements original while adding new sounding effects, but it comes together like a completely consistent composition.
Tietchens' half of this album is closer in structure to the original, being a sequence of five shorter, more diverse sounding works."Bride 18" is rather consistent with his later 1990s work:swirling electronics and hints of dark ambience, peppered with the occasional beep or reverberated noise, but otherwise solid and sustained.Both "Bride 20" and "Bride 21" keep these elements but Tietchens allows more of Burrows' original FM synth work to come to the forefront, at times buried under a nice filtered drone.The fourth especially showcases them, again taking on a more soundtrack-like feel that balances sound and space exquisitely.
I have always favored Asmus Tietchens' 1980s work that was not far removed from the world of industrial the most, so I cannot help but love Watching the Burning Bride most, although admittedly the short, vignette style of song was at times frustrating, since I felt they ended too quickly.In some ways Burning the Watching Bride ends up being a victim of its time, since those early Protools style experiments and processing lack the same level of innovation and humanity as the older, more primitive works have.It is still a very strong album though, even if I prefer its predecessor, and pairing the two together makes perfect sense.Not to minimize Terry Burrows' extensive role in these recordings, but the set makes for an excellent snapshot of what Tietchens had been doing in the past, and what he would continue doing in the future.
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LCLX is a rather fast follow-up to this Texas duo’s other recent work, Kruos, but by no means does it seem rushed or hurried. Alex Keller and Sean O'Neill again have produced a work that is both familiar and alien, through careful use of field recordings and understated processing to capture the world around them, mixing the mundane with the uncommon to create environments that sound much more unique then they likely were in the first place.
The lengthy title piece that opens LCLX is actually a reworking of material Keller and O'Neill utilized for their first performance together in 2015.The nearly 16 minute work is based solely on recordings captured at the Charles Alan Wright Intramural field in Austin, Texas, with little or no discernible processing or treatment to the sound.A heavy droning bass and complementary buzzing noise are immediately apparent from the start, apparently capturing the field’s bright lighting that is as sonically distracting as it apparently also is visually.
Alongside this somewhat abrasive sound is the recordings I would expect in this sort of location recording:passing vehicles, the occasionally disruptive motorcycle revving by, or car honking to add to the feeling of audio pollution.The same recordings also capture more pleasant moments, such as the chirping of birds and other wildlife.Somewhere in the middle of natural beauty and the sonic ugliness of industry lies the occasional snippet of conversation by passersby.
The remaining five pieces that make up this album come from less clear pedigrees, but all revolve around field recordings captured in urban and rural areas, and all manner in-between.Some of these are perversely enjoyable:I would hate to have to listen to the jackhammering captured on "Ununbium" against my will, but captured on record there is revealed an almost musical quality to it, emphasizing nuances to the sound I would have otherwise ignored.
In a more natural mood, "Ununpentium" is the classic sound of a rainstorm.The pitter-patter of raindrops both near and far from the recording device is a rather peaceful bit of wet, muggy sound.The added rumble of thunder that appears later on adds to that "enjoying nature" feel, but the passing airplane makes for an intentional distraction.The ten minute "Ununquadium" mirrors "LCLX" in its complexity, bringing in a series of sounds that are in this case not overly recognizable, but work well alongside one another.Distant rumbles and near static bursts act as the core, with the occasionally overt bit of bird chirping showing up.Later on a rhythmic clattering appears that could be studio treated with reverb and echo, or perhaps completely natural in their source.This ends up being mixed with a series of other unspecified mechanical sounds, resulting in a piece that lies in somewhere between the purity of nature and the sonic pollution of mankind.
Special note should be made of the CDs unconventional packaging.Folded within a piece of heavy paper and even heavier stamped fabric, it has that tactile, handmade quality to it that was so prevalent in the 1990s noise scene (such the G.R.O.S.S. label run by the late Akifumi Nakajima/Aube) that too many releases lack these days.Like Kruos, LCLX is another example of the intricacy and nuance possible from just using everyday field recordings.Alex Keller and Sean O'Neill are, at least superficially, just capturing the world around them as it happens, but the difference lies in their recording techniques and the final presentation.It is that use of the familiar and the unfamiliar that makes these works so engaging, and is an exemplary example of the art form.
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We're excited to welcome New York City-based composer and performer Lea Bertucci back to NNA for a brand new full-length LP, Metal Aether. Lea’s early 2017 cassette release All That Is Solid Melts Into Air focused on her role as a composer, with a hand-picked selection of talented musicians performing her minimal compositions. Metal Aether instead showcases her role as a performer, revealing four pieces that represent approximately 3 years of ideas and gestures for alto saxophone and magnetic tape.
Much like the recordings of her previous NNA release, Metal Aether continues to explore Lea’s acute interest in the nature of acoustics and the harmonic accumulation of sound, with its four pieces having been recorded in Le Havre, France in a former military base, and in New York City at ISSUE Project Room. With her horn, Lea produces pulsing minimalist patterns, transcendent drones, and upper register squalls that envelop these spaces in waves of overtones, microtones, and psychoacoustic effects. Tracks like "Accumulations" explore evocative, ancient-sounding melodic figures, while tracks like "Sustain and Dissolve" relish in the microtonal relationships between overlapping sustained notes. Aside from the saxophone, Bertucci further interacts with physical space by fortifying these pieces with manipulated field recordings from diverse locations, ranging from Mayan pyramids to NYC subways. Other instruments such as prepared piano and vibraphone can be heard on this album, processed through tape to unite melody and texture together as one. Lea displays a firm grasp of the inherent possibilities of sound manipulation to maximize her music’s power through the recording process itself, mixing conflicting fidelities to achieve a deeper, more organic form of expression.
More information can be found here.
Black Truffle present the premier recordings of two recent works by legendary American experimental composer Alvin Lucier.
Lucier has been crafting elegant explorations of the behavior of sound in physical space since the 1960s and is perhaps best known for his 1970 piece "I Am Sitting In a Room." He has written a remarkable catalog of instrumental works that focus on phenomena produced by the interference between closely tuned pitches, often using pure electronic tones produced by oscillators in combination with single instruments. Demonstrating the restless creative drive of an artist now in his 80s, the two recent works presented here both feature the electric guitar, an instrument Lucier has just recently begun to explore.
In "Criss-Cross," Lucier's first composition for electric guitars, two guitarists using e-bows sweep slowly up and down a single semitone, beginning at opposite ends of the pitch range. The piece exemplifies Lucier's desire not to "compose" in the conventional sense, but rather to eliminate everything that "distracts from the acoustical unfolding of the idea."
In this immaculately controlled performance of "Criss-Cross" by Oren Ambarchi and Stephen O’Malley, for whom the piece was written in 2013, a seemingly simple idea creates a rich array of sonic effects — not simply beating patterns, which gradually slow down as the two tones reach unison and accelerate as they move further apart, but also the remarkable phenomenon of sound waves spinning in elliptical patterns through space between the two guitar amps.
In the comparatively lush "Hanover," Lucier draws inspiration from the photograph on the cover, an image of the Dartmouth Jazz Band taken in 1918 featuring Lucier's father on violin. Using the instrumentation present in the photograph, Lucier creates an unearthly sound world of sliding tones from violin, alto and tenor saxophones, piano, vibraphone (bowed), and three electric guitars (which take the place of the banjos present in the photograph). Waves of slow glissandi create thick, complex beating patterns, gently punctuated by repeated single notes from the piano. The result is a piece that is simultaneously both unperturbably calm and constantly in motion.
Out now on Black Truffle.
