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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As much as I enjoy all of the musicians involved, the recently reincarnated Fenn O'Berg has thus far failed to recapture the deranged magic of their early years for me.  They can still be quite good though (and occasionally surprising).  These recordings from their 2010 Japanese tour share some of the muted, brooding tone of 2010's In Stereo, but also demonstrate that this laptop trio has not entirely abandoned their more wild, spontaneous, and absurdist tendencies.  I'm not sure if that necessarily makes In Hell stronger than its predecessor, but it at least seems a bit more striking and memorable.
In Hell reminds me of the folksy, hackneyed joke "if you don't like the weather in _____, wait five minutes!" due to its unstable, constantly shifting nature.  Despite that endless flux, however, these five pieces evoke an omnipresent mood of uneasiness, coldness, and dislocation that make the album title seem like an extraordinarily apt one.  In fact, one the closest stylistic reference points for Fenn O'Berg at this point seems to be the 20th century classical music avant-garde, as several passages sound queasily and dissonantly Morton Feldman-esque and disruptions by musique concrète-style found sounds are rampant.  Or maybe it just sounds like The Caretaker fed into a malfunctioning blender that turns itself off and on at its own whim.  There are certainly some flashes of humor hidden amidst all the alienation, like the funky and cartoonish vamp at the end of "Vampires of Hondori," but the gravity and dark tone of the surrounding material imbues them with perverse seriousness.
In any case, this album is essentially a simmering stew of minimal and disquieting musical passages constantly being augmented, consumed, or derailed by a host of buzzes, squelches, whines, crackles, bleeps, bloops, crunches, hums, and violent processing changes.  The two shorter pieces ("Omuta Elegy" and "Concrete Onions") seem to somehow maintain a linear arc of sorts, but the lengthier ones tend to end up in a very different place than they started.  The aforementioned "Vampires," for example, veers into space-y synthesizer ambiance, goofy funk, something that sounds like being enveloped by a swarm of digitized birds, an approximation of a lonely violist playing an out-of-tune instrument in hell, and something that sounds like the very fabric of the universe being ripped apart over the course of its 18-minute duration.  There's even some classic rock buried in there too.
For me, Fenn O'Berg's zenith will always be 1999's "Fenn O'Berg Theme," which perfectly blended a smokey, noirish motif with digitized, laptop chaos.  My main issue with the recently reanimated Fenn O'Berg is the absence of any similarly strong themes.  They seem to be "composing" by bouncing ideas off of each other until something coheres rather than gleefully mangling a strong, pre-existing motif.  As a result, their recent work seems to be more sophisticated, uncompromising, and daringly improvised, but the trade-off is that the relative hooklessness and amorphousness make it a less accessible and increasingly self-indulgent affair.  In fact, it's kind of analogous to shifting from bebop to free jazz: there is no decline in inspiration or vision, but it is quite a bit harder on the ears.  Consequently, their appeal for me these days is largely a cerebral one–I am fascinated by how these three unpredictable artists interact with one another and deal with amusing curveballs (like the abrupt appearance of Boston's "More Than a Feeling" in "Christian Rocks"), but I definitely wish there was sturdier structure and melodic content holding it all together.
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Between this and the recently released Imikuzushi live collaboration with Keiji Haino and Jim O’Rourke, Ambarchi's work is drifting more and more into the realm of "music" rather than his more abstract tendencies. While the collaboration is a full on psychedelic rock blast, Audience of One is a more restrained, structured affair that features, among other things, an Ace Frehely cover.
Ambarchi has never been one to overly engage in dissonant noise, but his work usually is tinged with an abstract quality.On opener "Salt," the musical bent on here becomes obvious.Ambarchi's guitar work is restrained, tightly clipped notes that are paired with Paul Duncan's heavily multitracked vocals.The piece goes from subtle restraint to more grandiose, sweeping strings that have bombast, but still a delicate sound to it.
"Passage" is cut from a similar cloth, with piano and ringing wine glasses filling wide open spaces.The delicate, beautiful strings (courtesy of Eyvind Kang) give the whole piece a distinct lightness, and more than a hint of the minimalist compositions of Terry Reily or Philip Glass.
The massive "Knots" makes up more than half of the album, clocking in over 33 minutes and it's also a dramatic, sweeping piece.It opens with subtle percussion and reigned in droning instruments, both of which flow together into a tense mixture that continues to build and build in volume and intensity.Horns and dissonant tones swell up to the forefront and then pull back, leaving the sparser moments to return.
As "Knots" goes on, French horns mimic battle cries before, about half-way through, the track just opens up into balls out noise rock, emphasizing Ambarchi's electric guitar and Joe Talia’s driving rhythms.Afterward, the piece falls apart into a fragmented, abstract soundscape that differs greatly from the disciplined, structured opening.
Finally, Audience of One ends on a cover of Ace Frehely's "Fractured Mirror," which is mostly a combination of intertwined acoustic and electric guitars atop a rudimentary vintage drum machine.While the credits state that Ambarchi provided vocals on the track, they're too buried and processed to be recognizable.It’s a surprising cover choice, but a majestic one that is both respectful to its source, while also taking the track in a unique direction.
Ambarchi's Audience of One manages to transform from sparse minimalism to a full on embrace of classic rock, which is a tall order in the span of less than an hour.Even though there seems to be dramatic shifts in style, the pieces all hang together very well, and the change in dynamics works nicely.The greater emphasis on conventional sound was surprising, but as good as it is, I can't complain.
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For the third installment of what has become a yearly tradition, three of contemporary music's foremost free improv players joined forces for a three-hour live show in Melbourne, Australia. The four tracks on Imikuzushi are excerpts culled from that blistering performance.
Part of what makes Imikuzushi such a fascinating listen is the players' choice of instruments and styles, in contrast with their previous collaborations. The first, 2010's Tima Formosa, was a relatively quiet affair, which I found a bit of a shock given Keiji Haino's involvement. Haino stuck to manipulating electronics, while Oren Ambarchi provided textured guitar and Jim O'Rourke sat in on piano. For the following year's concert, Ambarchi switched to drums and O'Rourke to bass, while Haino jumped between guitar, electronics and lap steel; the resulting album was In a Flash Everything Comes Together as One There Is No Need for a Subject (try saying that five times fast!), a vinyl-only release on Ambarchi's Black Truffle label. I haven't had the pleasure of hearing that one, but if it's anything like Imikuzushi, I'll need to seek it out immediately.
For the performance that spawned Imikuzushi, O'Rourke and Ambarchi remained on bass and drums, respectively, while Haino stripped back his multi-instrumental tendencies to focus on what he actually does best: shredding. The Haino/O'Rourke/Ambarchi power trio played three hours that night, and the album trims their performance to just over 70 minutes of music. As fair warning, fans of O'Rourke's gentle, ornate performances on his Drag City albums and Wilco collaborations (gag me) will likely shit themselves upon hearing Imikuzushi, where O'Rourke's fuzzed-out bass and Ambarchi's deft drumming both play a supporting role to Haino's white-hot guitar maelstrom. The first track makes this quite obvious, kicking off in the midst of Haino shredding and wailing on his instrument, sounding as if he's covering a Merzbow song. (Track titles are also a clue this is Haino's show: "Still Unable to Throw Off that Teaching a Heart Left Abandoned Unable to Get Inside that Empty Space Nerves Freezing that Unconcealed Sadness" is nothing if not Haino-esque.)
At his most tempered, Haino's playing is usually on par with Sonic Youth (R.I.P.) at their most violent. When he decides to throw down the hammer, he's in a league all his own. Most of the time on Imikuzushi, Haino remains in fifth gear, conjuring up molten blasts of guitar noise, squall, feedback, and rapid-fire, frenzied shredding like a man possessed. When he comes up for air, it's usually to let out an inhuman, tortured wail or two before diving back in, coaxing progressively more violent sounds out of his instrument. Haino shifts between styles with ease, conjuring up visions of blues, metal, and psychedelia when he's not in overdrive. I can only imagine the religious intensity of seeing this stuff played live; I'm sure the attendees left happy as a clam, as well as partially deaf for a week.
Ambarchi's playing on drums is commendable, since keeping up with Haino for a marathon improv session is likely among the more difficult assignments he's shouldered lately. Ambarchi switches between nimble free-jazz playing, Kraut-centric rhythms, and straightforward playing with ease, depending on Haino's mood. O'Rourke follows suit, his bass providing enough color and shading for Haino to get away with splattering paint all over the canvas. Ambarchi and O'Rourke shine brightest when Haino's tone downshifts from ALL SYSTEMS GO to less aggressive playing. Track two builds from Ambarchi's barely-there cymbals and O'Rourke's bass rumbles, with Haino adding shards of minimal psychedelic guitar and building to a crescendo 10 minutes later. Likewise, track three starts with pulsing electronics before Ambarchi shifts into a motorik rhythm and, later, O'Rourke grinds away on bass as if playing with a Kyuss cover band.
Imikuzushi makes one thing immediately clear: Keiji Haino remains one of the most exciting, vital electric guitarists working today. His career is full of rich collaborations, from free improv giants Derek Bailey, Peter Brötzmann and Tony Conrad, to avant-blues legend Loren Connors, to modern experimental artists like Boris, Pan Sonic, and Ruins' Tatsuya Yoshida. On the strength of Imikuzushi and its two predecessors, Haino's trio with Oren Ambarchi and Jim O'Rourke ought to be canonized alongside his best collaborative work. While much of Haino's work remains abstract, difficult to grasp by design, Imikuzushi has a ritualistic energy and immediacy to it that reminds me of his days in Fushitsusha. If that's not a high enough recommendation to convert O'Rourke fans, then stick to your damn Wilco records and I'll keep dreaming I was at this jaw-dropping show.
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Start to finish, Mirrorring's debut is submerged in a hazy, blurred production aesthetic. This is not only unsurprising, it's exactly what I would have predicted from this collaboration between Liz Harris (of Grouper) and Jesy Fortino (of Tiny Vipers) before hearing a single reverbed note. Fortunately, Liz Harris' age-old trick is a good one, and Fortino's contributions are key, making Foreign Body more than the sum of its contributors' parts.
Opening track "Fell Sound" takes an immediate swan-dive into murky, immersive drone textures that are recognizable as Liz Harris' work to anyone lucky enough to snag vinyl-only pressings of last year's mighty A I A: Dream Loss and Alien Observer records. As on each of Grouper's records, the reverbed-to-high-heavens production is as much an intended focal point as Harris' cloudy vocals and muffled guitar strumming. What keeps "Fell Sound" (and the whole album, really) from seeming like A I A leftovers is the collaborative element shining through: Jesy Fortino's guitar counterpoint cuts through the fog like the distant headlights of an oncoming car. The song is quite evocative and pretty, if a predictable way to kick things off.
As the album progresses, Fortino's contributions come to light in her singing, which is warmer and more welcoming (and intelligible) than Harris' ghostly shards of voice. "Cliff" and "Mine" both layer Fortino's voice on top of a thick blanket of sound, with Harris' guitar playing smeared and blurred unto infinity, as if beamed in from oceanic depths under cover of night. As an aesthetic foil, Fortino solemnly finger-picks her acoustic guitar, letting small clusters of notes waft from the immersive drone. It's gorgeous stuff, to be sure, and sounds best played at high volume or on headphones, when the sounds are able to wash over my ears like a rising tide. As background music, it warms up a room admirably, with nothing abrasive or unexpected cutting through and spoiling the mood.
Room for improvement lies in the fact that both of these ladies know how to write a killer tune, and Foreign Body could use a couple more songs as opposed to sounds. Fortino's made a career out of melancholy vocal-and-guitar solo work on her two Sub Pop albums, and Harris' lovely song-cycle on Dragging a Dead Deer up a Hill shows that she can write memorable songs when she puts her mind to it ("Heavy Water/I'd Rather Be Sleeping"), as opposed to focusing strictly on atmosphere. Bits of Fortino's songwriting prowess sneak into Mirrorring tracks like "Silent from Above," which pairs the album's most evocative melody with Harris' soft backing vocals and a barely-there drone that evokes Grouper's most restrained work. "Silent from Above" stands as Foreign Body's best song, and the one melody I can clearly recall (i.e., hum to myself) after spending a couple weeks with the album.
Foreign Body was put to tape during a recording session in Portland, Oregon. It sounds cozy and personal, and it's obvious Fortino and Harris were in the same room together, feeding off each other's energy (and/or melancholy) in real time, as opposed to swapping MP3 files. Much of the album also sounds improvised, like Harris kicked off each piece by building guitar loops into a layered drone (as anyone who has seen her play live can attest) and providing space for Fortino to weave in acoustic guitar lines accordingly. In a brief interview last month, Fortino talked about her experience making the album: "We recorded most of the songs together live. [...] Most records I've done on my own are very straightforward, just a room mic and me singing and playing acoustic. So it was fun trying to go with Liz in an abstract direction."
In that same interview, Harris added color on the creative process and the pair's aesthetic differences: "We end up balancing each other out because of the way we're bringing this resonance out in our tones or sounds. She has a stronger voice than I do, and plays a brighter acoustic guitar, and picks out points rather than making washes of sounds. I tend to stay quieter and make these more blanket-y, low-end things." She's right, and as a midway point between Harris and Fortino's distinct, previously defined sounds, Foreign Body is a success. Most of what it leaves to be desired as a song cycle, it makes up on the strength of its immersive palette of sounds, as well as its merging of two visions into a cohesive whole.
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Artist: Sleep Research Facility
Title: Stealth
Catalogue No: CSR159CD
Barcode: 8 2356650762 8
Format: 2 x CD in jewelcase
Genre: Drone / Dark Ambient
Shipping: 9th April
Pre-Order CD
Sublime new album from the drone / dark ambient legend.
As a project commissioned for Cold Spring, "Stealth" presents itself as an exploration of sounds neither here nor there, textures camouflaged against their own background noise, and the distant crackling telemetric code-speak of a vague humanity hidden behind a cloak of deadly high-technology. Comprising of five deeply-layered extended tracks, mixed and edited from re-sampled location recordings originally captured inside the hanger environs of a Northrop-Grumman B-2 Stealth Bomber, during a period of downtime maintenance at a U.S. Air Force base in Cambridgeshire, England. Original field recordings and texture preparations by FOURM/Si_Comm.
First edition pressing of 1000 copies includes bonus disc comprised of this *pre-mix* material in its original, un-edited form, as a representation of the source audio from which "Stealth" was reconstituted.
Deep listening inspired by one of the most mysterious aircraft of the twentieth-century. Headphones recommended.
Tracks:
Disc 1: 1. Stealth1 | 2. Stealth2 | 3. Stealth3 | 4. Stealth4 | 5. Stealth5
Disc 2: Source
Artist: Burial Hex
Title: Book Of Delusions
Catalogue No: CSR166CD
Barcode: 8 23566507529
Format: CD in jewelcase
Genre: Horror Electronics / Ritual / Post-Industrial
Shipping: 9th April
Pre-Order CD
During the period in which Clay Ruby first began working on this piece of art, he had become so completely surrounded by evil and deception that he was forced to begin summoning a particularly extreme and ancient force of protection and vitality just to make it alive through the end of 2008. Aside from spiritually fortifying Ruby's life, the complexities of these new elemental entities brought with them circumstances causing a much more rich and intense recording experience than he could have ever composed on his own. Classic horror electronics and post-industrial apocalyptic soundscapes with unsettling notes, anguished cries and voices of the dead. His most ritualistic album yet.
Reissue of the extremely limited LP with bonus tracks taken from the split LPs with Kinit Her and Zola Jesus, all available on CD for the first time! All tracks have been carefully remastered.
Tracks: 1. Final Litany | 2. Urlicht | 3. Crowned & Conquering Child | 4. The Book Of Delusions | 5. God Of War And Battle | 6. Storm Clouds | 7. Go Crystal Tears | 8. Temple Of The Flood
I am not at all surprised that Jim Jarmusch has finally made an album, but given his past links to folks like RZA,  Mulatu Astatke, and Tom Waits, I did not exactly expect his musical debut to be a duet with a Dutch lutenist.  As it turns out, however, Jozef van Wissem turns out to be a very comfortable and effective foil for Jarmusch's rather abstract guitar work.  While this isn't a deep or substantial album by any means (despite the grandiose implications of the Swedenborgian title), it is nevertheless quite a warm and likable one and it never sounds at all tossed-off or overwrought.
This is not the first time that Jarmusch and van Wissem have worked together, as Jarmusch contributed guitar to last year's The Joy That Never Ends.  That, of course, goes a long way towards explaining why this duo seem so at ease interacting with each other musically.  That also goes a long way towards explaining the basic stylistic thrust of this effort: it basically sounds like a Jozef van Wissem album, but slower and more spacious.  Josef's simple, ringing melodies are generally what hold the songs together and give them direction, but he leaves lots of room for Jarmusch to provide depth and color.  There are some exceptions, however.  The big one is the 9-minute "The Sun of the Natural World is Pure Fire," as van Wissem keeps his contribution fairly minimal to allow Jim's roiling, snarling howls of feedback and dissonant bent notes to take center stage.  To his credit, Jarmusch has no trouble making that work, unleashing a controlled cacophony that would not sound at all out of place at a Spiritualized concert.  Jim returns the favor for "He is Hanging by his Shiny Arms," allowing van Wissem to unfold a very pleasant and trill-heavy melody on his own, stepping in only near the end to cryptically recite several lines from a poem by St. John of the Cross.
As skilled as Jarmusch is at harnessing and sculpting distortion and feedback, the success is still largely dependent on the strength of van Wissem's framework.  Aside from the aforementioned "Shiny Arms," the best piece is probably the title one, as Jozef does a beautiful job dynamically switching back and forth between simplicity and rich harmony throughout.  There aren't any particularly weak compositions among these five pieces though, as even the more dirge-like ones ultimately catch fire or offer some sort of subtle delight.  The album's sole flaw seems to be that some of the songs tend to explore just one motif for a while, then just kind of abruptly end.  That certainly betrays vamp/improvisational origins, but the  pieces rarely overstay their welcome and the spontaneous/organic feel of the interactions make that seem like a pretty favorable trade-off.  I'm not even tempted to balk at the numerous allusions to Christian mysticism that would normally seem hugely out of place for such an intimate, loose, and unpretentious affair.  Perhaps I am just predisposed to like these two, but the themed and evocative titles seem to actually elevate this pleasant song suite into something that feels more meaningful and enticingly mysterious than it otherwise would have.
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This album is hailed as boasting the most energetic and concise songs of White Hills' career, which seems like a very ill-advised direction for the band to take, given that they are not a band known for great songcraft.  I look to them solely for drugged-out, guitar-worship excess—trying to be direct and hard-hitting does not suit them at all.  Fortunately, they still balance their punchier songs with several prolonged, space-y freakouts.  When those avoid sinking into self-parodying extremes, they can be absolutely brilliant.  I just wish that there were fewer uneven, underwhelming, and frustrating moments between them.
The album kicks off with one of the aforementioned short, hard-hitting songs, "Pads of Light."  Notably, I almost put the word "songs" in ironic quotes in this case, because this particular piece is extremely illustrative of why that direction is such a very bad idea.  Stylistically, "Pads" recalls Hawkwind's more metal leanings, but there is almost zero content: bassist Ego Sensation and drummer Nick Name whip up some rumbling, visceral power, but the song is essentially just Dave W. raspily howling "(something unintelligible)...on pads of light!" over some very dull and grindingly repetitive power chords.  Near the end, Dave thankfully erupts into a pretty cool guitar solo, but the rest of the song is just basically a wait for that to happen.  The whole thing sounds like it could have easily been made up on the spot.  "You Dream You See" later follows a similar template, but does so much more successfully, locking into a snarl-heavy, head-bobbing groove and culminating in a pretty unhinged guitar and synth freak-out.
Unfortunately, the album hits another spectacular low point in the opposite direction with "Song of Everything."  I want to scream every time I hear it, as it comes so close to being an absolutely classic White Hills song: it has a heavy riff, a propulsive groove, wild drumming, some neat psychedelic textures and flourishes, a lengthy wah-wah and spoken word interlude–pretty much everything I could possibly hope for.  Unfortunately, it also has some of the worst, most cliched lyrics in recent memory.  Initially, it seemed like the repeated howled "spread your wings and fly!" part was as bad as it could get, but then the languid and echo-heavy midsection sounded exactly like being trapped at a party by a college freshman that has just discovered acid ("open your miiiind!").  Once Dave dropped that philosophy on me, it became impossible to take the song at all seriously, no matter how fiercely they roared back.
Thankfully, the rest of the album mostly manages to avoid the dual pitfalls of attempted songcraft and overly earnest lysergic exhortations to free my mind and surrender to the cosmos.  White Hills are at their best when Dave just lets his guitar do his communicating for him and doesn't worry about trying to craft any catchy hooks.  As a result, the two lengthiest and most structurally simplistic pieces ("Robot Stomp"
and "I Write A Thousand Letters") are probably the best.  "Letters" is the sort of piece that probably shouldn't work at all, as the whole thing basically sounds a 14-minute-long outro with no substantial development of any kind.  Rhythmically and melodically, it almost sounds like a locked groove, which unexpectedly turns out to be a mesmerizing enough foundation to suck me deeply into all the tripped-out synth noises and heavily processed guitar pyrotechnics that unfold throughout.  The 12-minute "Robot Stomp" is even better still, holding down a throbbing motorik groove beneath a hazy of strange sounds and chattering voices and allowing far more dynamic variation and passing dissonance. In fact, the longer it goes on the crazier and more far out it goes–it may be the best single piece that White Hills have ever recorded.
I think that the problem with White Hills might be that they don't realize quite what it is that they do brilliantly (muscular, deranged, long-form psychedelic instrumentals).  That seems to be the only explanation for why something as weird, wonderful, and chaotic as "Robot Stomp" could possibly wind up on the same album as the lead-footed, reheated Hawkwind of "Pads of Light."  The latter might be accessible enough to lure in some more fans, yet it seems so bland, heavy-handed, and regressive when contrasted with the album's highlights.  Frying on this Rock is not exactly a misstep, as Dave W. and company have eliminated some of the bloat that characterized H-p1 and unveiled a couple of pieces that show a dramatic, inspired evolution, but they continue to be a bit too schizophrenic, inconsistent, and prone to wince-inducing lyrics for me to fully embrace.
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Tomkins is of course more well known for his power electronics work as Sutcliffe Jugend, he (as well as SJ partner Paul Taylor) have been using their own label, Between Silences, to release a multitude of experiments and improvisations. Here, Tomkins goes into a more experimental electronic direction, including seven full discs of material inspired by Japanese pachinko halls.
Like the 17 disc Weave (which was all autoharp-based material), Pachinko Noise is an obsessive exploration of a single topic.Inspired by the electronic and metallic chaos of pachinko halls during a 2011 visit to Japan, Tomkins used only a Korg Kaossilator to create the material spread across seven CDRs, each clocking in around 40 minutes.
There comes to be certain commonalities between pieces:tracks like "Pachinko Silverhalls" and "Pachinko Pachino," throw together stuttering outbursts and noise-laden blasts on top of a buried, but perceptible concession to melody, juxtaposing the noise and the music.On "Pachinko Rush," it goes even more into musical territory, vaguely mimicking techno, albeit in an apocalyptic manner.
In some cases, there may be little sense of melody, but a rhythmic undercurrent can still be heard.On pieces like "Pachinko Stretch," the rapid-fire percussive bits come together in a manner not all that dissimilar from latter day Autechre (think "Gantz Graf") but still retaining a unique feel."Pachinko Perversion" even goes farther, almost embracing late 1990s drum and bass.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a Tomkins release without pushing the noise envelope somewhat, and "Pachinko Duel" and "Pachinko Habitat" are great examples of this, coming out as pure, harsh electronic noise that is as violent as any Merzbow record."Pachinko Sound" is another chaotic piece, but with its hollow rattling and siren-like swells, it sounds like it could be a pachinko hall field recording.
Across seven discs, there is quite a lot to take in here, and I think if this were to be a more traditional, commercially based release, some editing and pairing down of the material would make for a stronger release.However, as a piece of intentional, obsessive sonic indulging, it definitely works.
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Short Electronic Pieces is drawn from a similar place sonically, but has a more distinct, varied sound to it, feeling more like a compilation of singular pieces rather than a complete album."Slyver" and "Light Funk", for example, are all microscopic digitally delayed notes that cross into the technoid-realms of Pachinko Noise.
However, the digital plucked strings and pitch-bent voices of "Walks" have a more significant musical sheen about it, making it stand out on its own."Quaid Series 1" just goes for it and brings a steady, metronomic rhythm, albeit hollow, into a skeletal techno track."Thiswas" cuts the beats back toclicks and pops, but remains in the realm of minimal electro.
Then again, there are the experimental, unstructured pieces like "Slointed" that have a wet, pulsing sound that feels more in-line with the earliest electronic music recordings."Vuldy Ewn" throws radio interference with Morse code like layers of sound, resulting in a piece that straddles ambience and noise.Finally, with the closing "Strins," Tomkins delivers pure, symphonic synth passages that feel like a powerful piece of film-score work.
For both of these releases, there is a sense of overkill, but never in a way that actually hurts them.I don't think that, even if paired down to shorter, more unified albums, they would really benefit significantly.I went into listening to both of these works expecting them to be sprawling, obsessive collections of material, and that’s exactly what I got.In both cases it can be a lot to take in during a single sitting, but given the right amount of time and space when listening, both come across quite well as captivating electronic works.
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A posthumous release from this composer, with help from Will Guthrie (percussion) and Elisabeth Gmeiner (violin), there is a significant use of space and ambience from this otherwise noise-centric artist. With its unconventional instrumentation and coda/remix by Schäfer’s collaborator and friend Zbigniew Karkowski, it is a fitting tribute.
The main piece, "Thought Provoking III," is built from two rehearsal performances and the final, public performance, with all three seamlessly woven together to sound like a single uninterrupted work.Opening with subtle processing and scraped violin, it becomes more and more abrasive, as if the strings were being slowly scraped across broken glass and dull knives.Behind this there’s deep, resonating percussion that rumbles malignantly in the distance.
Amid these acidic scrapes and room-shaking pulses, organ pipes (played with hair dryers) resonate like foghorns, aggressively and dominantly atop everything else.With these three major elements, Schäfer weaves together a uniform composition, using subtle processing and effects to transform the various noises.
In the latter half of the piece, the violin is stretched to inhuman guttural screams, the percussion becomes a cacophony of jarring, erratic thuds and bangs to create an overwhelming, uncomfortable chaos that eventually relents, leaving tiny fragments of noise and bellowing pipes off in the distance.
The shorter second piece, a remix of the first by Zbigniew Karkowski, embraces the harsher, rawer elements and turns them up to 11.The percussion is melded into thin, brittle sounds that resemble an overamplifed sheet of tin foil in a tornado.Sounds are sped up, creating a tense, hyperactive feeling that overshadows the discomfort from the former piece, before finally ending everything on a pure white-noise blast.Easy listening it is not, but is a compelling abstraction of Schäfer’s work.
While Guthrie mentions in the liner notes that no one "did" much during these performances, but that the sound was allowed to flow naturally, I think that gives the wrong impression.Even if the results are more a matter of nature taking its course, the composition and structure established by Schäfer in preparation for this work is what causes the magic to happen.
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Collecting a number of cassette only releases from the '80s, this CD box set charts Colin Potter’s development over the course of about ten years. While the styles he employed are drastically different to his current mode of working, this collection covers everything from Kosmische soundscapes to quirky BBC Radiophonic Workshop style tunes. However, it is possible to hear the embryonic forms of what he is now doing; this may be ancient history but it is a narrative with some meaning today.
The first disc covers the A-Gain cassette where Potter is found traversing some of the same sort of sounds that Kraftwerk were doing not too long before him. However, this is music for cups of tea in the grey and green of northern England rather than themes for radioactivity and motorways. Potter ties his music to the landscape around him with pieces like "Rooftops" and "On Entering York Minster," evoking his hometown of York. The latter is a magisterial piece, deceptively simple but overwhelming in its overall effect (even if Potter laments in the liner notes that it does not do the cathedral it is named after justice). A bonus track is included in the form of "Forest of Galtres," another piece of music related to Potter’s surroundings at the time. Compared to the grandeur and brightness of the rest of this disc, "Forest of Galtres" is a dark, claustrophobic work.
My favorite material features on the second disc, originally released as Two Nights. This is the closest work to Potter’s later sound worlds: a pair of sprawling solo jams that constantly change and evolve as Potter introduces and removes various elements live in the studio. Both pieces were recorded on similar set ups one night after the other but despite a common ground between them, they expand out in vastly different directions. Supplementing the original Two Nights material is "One Million Blades of Grass," which follows a similar structure to the other two pieces and is just as engaging.
The third and fourth discs are given over to the two volumes of Recent History. These recordings are less thematically coherent than the first two discs in Ancient History but they represent a period of experimentation and exploration in Potter’s methodology. The best pieces are amongst the finest works in the box. "Nine Months" (dedicated to Potter’s daughters) is a tremendous piece, reminiscent of the type of works included on the first disc but here Potter sounds more confident and adventurous than he did on those earlier recordings. "Sunderland" brims with warmth, bringing to mind Cluster at their most tender moments.
The final disc (only available in the limited edition version) is a compilation of largely unreleased material and compilation tracks from the mid ‘80s through to the ‘90s. It is a bit of a mixed bag (some of the pieces are exercises with new equipment) but there are some gems here. "Drone for JC" (Jonathan Coleclough rather than the Messiah) is particularly effective, an intense wall of guitars and didgeridoo which ticks all the boxes for me. "Shark Music" finishes off the disc, leaving me with a sense of dread (the idea of sharks is usually enough to send a shiver down my spine…). Potter does something that John Williams could never do: create a suspenseful, apt piece of music without ripping off Stravinsky.
While this box set covers a huge amount of material, there are still a few of Colin Potter’s older releases that could do with reissuing. Some parts of the older cassettes are included in 2006’s vinyl only compilation A Skeleton/Cupboard Situation but it would be nice to see a companion CD set for Ancient History.
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