Sébastien Branche - Ligne irrégulière (CDR)

A fine, concentrated set of solo saxophonics from Branche. Can we use the term "post-Doneda" yet. It is probably an unfair singling out (doubtless there were other antecedents), but he was the first saxophonist I happened to hear, in the late 90s, where the idea of the instrument as a hollow tube of metal was thrust to the forefront. Branche focuses on a particular area in each of the five tracks, always deliberate even as the volume swells. The first ponders hollow key pops, a technique we've all heard before but, crucially, as is the case with all cuts, is embedded into a form that has its own life, sometimes almost suggesting a song. After the initial percussing, Branche interpolates a very low, circularly-breathed hum (I'm guessing tenor sax, though it's not indicated), creative a cavernous effect, the pops lodging into and rolling atop the thrum, the latter taking on a didjeridoo character. The next is also a multiphonic drone (as is much of the album), a mid-range, raw, quavering hum sandwiched between hoarse breath above and the occasional low intrusion. As throughout the disc, circular breathing is employed but, more importantly, really exquisite control with the overtones, wresting an endlessly fascinating series of sounds from an ostensibly narrow spectrum. Another, different, deep drone begins the third track, soon accompanied by insectile taps and scratches, like a thin dowel gently striking the saxophone exterior. The playing remains calm even as the volume increases steadily, reaching a point where the vibrations from the instrument are causing distortion in the mics attached, the whole contraption seemingly on the verge of dissolution. Again, great control and single-mindedness, wonderfully absorbing sound. After a lovely, quieter piece that features brushy noises with a strange ringing sound, Branche concludes with a return to the hyper-deep buzzes encountered earlier, even more intense and speaker-worrying, a very alive sound with more than enough tonal shading and gristle to allow intense aural inspection.

"Ligne irrégulière" is very well though out, strongly rendered album, great investigative feel, as though Branche is discovering these worlds as he goes. If you've any interest in saxophone extensions and think there's still life in that old beast yet, don't let this one escape.

Branche's website

[Entr'acte seems to have departed from its former disc wrappings, that metallic/plastic deal with info printed directly on. Current sleeves are hard paper, black with the catalog number in large white letters. I've chosen to illustrate the releases with the image that appears on Entr'acte's website]

" "[sic]Tim Goldie/Daniel Beban - SLAKES (Entr'acte)

My sole experience with Goldie, as near as I can recall, was as the less interesting half of Deflag Haemorrhage/Haien Kontra with Mattin at Issue Project Room a few years back. While Mattin was, in this case, interestingly provocative (not allowing people to sit--forcibly pushing off a chair one attendee who insisted--, endangering eyes and other head parts with collapsing music stands and describing, by name, the actions of certain audience members) Goldie, wearing camouflage gear, largely stalked the floor in a mock Frankenstein manner (something, judging by some photos on the Entr'acte site, he's yet to give up on). It was pretty aggravating. Things are better here partially, I'm guessing, as we're spared the visuals but also, presumably, due to Beban's participation. Goldie's largely, not exclusively, on drums, Beban on guitar, voice and other instruments.

Three CDs worth then, along with a book-sized volume which contains a page of text for each of the 85 tracks; titles or not it's tough to say, but I'll go along with that. Words, phrases, mostly English, some French or German, some palindromes, internal repetition, all in caps. The music? My first thought was some of the more out percussion pieces by Sun Ra from the mid to late 60s, without any African allusions but with a similar looseness and dark, underlying texture, here including deep scrapes and metallic groans. They actually hit some near grooves, and fine ones, on occasion as on the third track, Disc One--I can imagine being quite pleasurably immersed in this in a live situation, amidst the throbs and pushing pulse. Others remind me a bit of Ascension (Jaworzyn, not Coltrane) and that whole Isolationist/noise vibe form the 90s--molded into a somewhat more song-oriented form, you might find Caspar Brotzmann/FM Einheit lurking around here. There's a healthy dose of raw noise as well as some not terribly subtle quieter moments (not that subtlety is a goal here). On its own terms, the music flows well enough, is sequenced in a way that holds some interest, though I miss even any attempt at real provocation a la Mattin. Do we need three full CDs worth? No. Not much for my taste though others may revel.

Mark Schreiber - Croassarc Chute (Entr'acte)

A brief (23-minute) set of processed electronics. As is all to often the case, the sounds are quite redolent of early (50s-60s) electronic music albeit less awkward, more silky smooth--not necessarily a good thing. It's full of flutters, echoed patterns that flit by like swallows or gnats, loom in from the distance, hurtle past, generally with an interior pulse. The sound field is almost always occupied, with an attack ranging from skitterish to watery; I'm thinking Joan Mitchell abstraction but without the ecstatic coloration. Here it's more Georges Mathieu, splashy and vibrant but ultimately insubstantial. I admit to a lack of understanding as to why exploration along this avenue is still pursued, but perhaps it's just me. One desperately wants to hear more grit, more false starts, more wonder.

Kyle Bruckmann - Technological Music Vol. 1 (Entr'acte)

Well, there's decidedly more grit and uncertainty to Bruckmann's foray into pulse-based electronic music. He sets himself the quixotic task of, to some extent, replicating the throb effects of various dance forms without the use of drum machines or sequencers, relying only on his trustworthy oboe and English horn, analog synths and "malfunctioning" electric organs and pianos. One might ask, regardless of success rate, whether or not this is a goal worth spending time on and I suppose the answer might depend on one's susceptibility to the charms of said dance music. My own is pretty much nil so, while the music lopes and trundles by in an engaging manner, it's hard for me to get excited about it. There is a nice wheeze factor, sometimes the reeds, others (I imagine) one of the organs, making for the rather humorous image of an arthritic techno aficionado gamely sticking with his chosen art form and, I should say, the sounds are entirely pleasant and surprisingly non-obnoxious, just inhabiting an area that it's hard for me to drum up (so to speak) much enthusiasm. Your voltage may vary.

Andrew Leslie Hooker - In Emptiness There is Truth (Entr'acte)

A work designed for the Italian Ravello Festival, this is a recording that begs to be experienced in situ. Hooker, via a large array of recorders, tapes, computers and mics, constructs a ghostly swirl of winds and disembodied voices--too stereotypically ghostly, perhaps--that one can imagine flowing across and through a large interior space. Within this, Seijiro Murayama contributes vocalizations--hoarse croaks, frail whinnies, etc. It's all very much of a piece; what variation is found comes courtesy of Murayama and that's minimal enough. You really want to be able to walk around amidst all this, probably in the dark, to perhaps have those croaks emitted from various points--could be spooky enough. Much less immersive, necessarily, when experienced via speakers in the comfort of one's home. [an aside: shortly after listening to the Hooker disc for the last time, Jeph Jerman's "Lithiary" happened to surface on my shuffle, 46 minutes of the "same" sound, small stones being gently tossed about on a moving shelf. But so much not the same! Something, perhaps, to be said on the virtues of acoustic sameness versus the electronic variety]

Shelley Parker - Sleeper Line (Entr'acte)

Here's an example of a disc whose music lies well outside of my normal parameters but which I nonetheless find absorbing and highly enjoyable. Parker creates five tracks on this EP, each of which dwelling in a beat-laden atmosphere, but one in which the pulses are very slow, somewhere less than 60bpm, sometimes much less, usually imbued with both massive bass underpinnings and a sizzle of irregular grime atop. The slowed tempo and the elements chosen combine to form a luscious, lava-like flow, forming an endless stream of surges that encrust, break, encrust, break, iterating but accreting variances as they go. There are doubtless more appropriate references but if you imagine some of Laswell's dark ambient 90s work and then up the quality level three or fourfold, you'll be in the vicinity. An odd combination of rich and desolate--I like it a lot, can only imagine hearing it live, worrying about dislodging embolisms...Great stuff.

Adam Asnan - Inconsistent Images (Entr'acte/Senufo Editions)

I know Asnan from his work with the trio VA AA LR (with Vasco Alves and Louie Rice--this is rather different from their music. The site describes the three pieces as musique concrète but the immediate sensation is one of advanced glitch and it's really fascinating, dense but fluid, busy but unforced, a quasi-tonal repeated thread running through silvery and rapid electronic noise with bass blasts more felt than heard. That textural range is beautifully presented (partially due to Giuseppe Ielasi's mastering, I'm guessing); there's a vast sonic distance between sounds. Track one recalls Tudor but more slippery while the other two seem to have at least a portion of their source in string work of some kind (cello or bass?). I was reminded a bit of the classic, late 90s work of John Wall here and there but this music is more visceral, extremely present and, for lack of a better term, three-dimensional. You feel as though you can reach into the air and surround it with your hands. Fine work, wonderfully unspooled, utterly captivating--one of my favorite things this year.

Entr'acte

Senufo Editions

Ian Rawes/London Sound Survey - These Are the Good Times (Vittelli)

So here I am, trying to make qualitative sense of the post-Cagean field recording world wherein, among other issues, one's ears become attuned the wealth of sound in any arbitrarily chosen situation and this tasty item appears, proudly "old-fashioned" insofar as targeting specific "interesting" sound-worlds, creating just the sort of post card compendium that you'd think we'd grown away from. Yet it works, dammit, it certainly works.

The 21 tracks on this LP date from 2009-2012. I think it fair to say that even those of us who try to experience the surrounding world with some amount of aural equanimity are still embedded enough in the day to day world that we're drawn to noise with specific form, often social in one respect or another. These tracks are like that, the kind of scenes that would naturally attract attention. Sometimes this means performances of a sort, whether a Caribbean song gathering, a trumpeter busking or a street poet. Other times it's the general clamor of early morning in an urban area, the clatter and gab in a cafe or birds mixing with sirens from a refinery. Then there are the odd micro-worlds of a flying ants' nest or the sonar clicks from a bat. Rawes writes, "Some of these London sounds were found by design and others mainly by luck, but none were collected in a purely random way. Everyone sets out to record with an agenda." That's at least part of the interest here, the sense that the collector is pursuing sonic game, though this may well clash with the ideals of many a modern field recordist. Another key factor is that, unlike most disc-length field recordings that cross my desk, the tracks here are short, often about a minute long, rarely more than three, creating a very songlike feeling, a choice that works beautifully. As well, the recording quality itself is excellent (the pieces were mastered by Graham Lambkin), always embedding the central focus, whether a trumpeter playing 'Ave Maria', someone wielding a dickeybird whistle or cadging cigarettes into the broader context, really cementing them there, in fact. And that polyphon music box!

Some of the best "songs" I've heard this year, in fact. It's a real jewel in this area, quite apart from most; don't let it slip by.

Vittelli

Beuger - l'Innomable

Antoine Beuger - sixteen stanzas on stillness and music unheard (l'Innomable)

One of the quandaries I have, as a listener, when experiencing the music of Beuger and like-minded composers is the unavoidable reactive variation between simply hearing the music "innocently" and knowing something about the score and the composer's intentions. In a live situation, this is interesting enough, though I can't go back and revisit the music once (as is typical) I take a peek at the score or talk with the composer/instrumentalist(s) after the event. On disc, a was the case this time, I'll typically listen a number of times knowing nothing about the work other than is indicated on the sleeve--I hadn't read Greg Stuart's notes on the l'Innomable site--and then, often, try to ferret out some information as to the structure, intent, realization, etc. Inevitably, I then hear the work differently. I'm never sure whether this is "good" or "bad", but it's definitely the case.

"sixteen stanzas on stillness and music unheard" dates from 2003 and was designed for "sixteen instruments of the same kind". Here, Stuart plays all parts on bowed vibraphone. The score calls for the performers to be arrayed around the audience, so our listening experience is substantially different from the original intentions. The sixteen stanzas each consist of seven whole notes; stanzas 1-5 are played by all sixteen instrumentalists in unison (or close to unison; they're given, not surprisingly, some leeway in how close they approach the notated pitch and which octave to use), stanzas 6-8 by two octets playing two different lines, stanzas 9-10 by four quartets playing four different lines, stanza 11 by eight duos playing eight different lines and stanzas 12-16 by 16 "soloists" each playing a different line; there are substantial spaces between stanzas. As Stuart mentions, even though the vibraphone wasn't tuned differently for each stanza, microtonal fluctuations were inevitable due to variables such as position in the stereo field and other studio ephemera.

So that's the nuts and bolts--what does one hear? Periodic clouds of sound, growing increasingly, though subtly complex as the piece progresses. The bowing eliminates any percussive attack--I initially thought e-bows might have been used, but that's not the case--resulting in shimmering masses that are both overtly attractive and rather obscure, the various superimposed notes creating a kind of haze. You know when you're trying to see a faint star and find that it's more easily seen when looked at indirectly? I find the music hear more enjoyable when heard that way, listened to in a glancing manner. Concentrating on it is tough; the sounds resist the kind of mental categorization that, unfortunately but all too commonly, is a part of the listening process. In this case, it's almost certainly a recording artifact. Were I situated amidst sixteen players and (more) aware of the spatial aspects and the direct play of microtones on my eardrums from various directions, it would be a drastically different experience. Here, localized in two speakers, I find it preferable to remove myself a bit, to (for example) go out on the balcony which is nearby my desk in our new digs, to hear this ghostly emanation coming from inside the room, coloring the exterior sound world. Though, as the polyphony increases, I'm aware that I'm missing out on a huge amount of subtlety. Frustrating! As with much of Beuger's music (and interpretations thereof) there's a vast amount of complexity lurking beneath a deceivingly simple surface. It's harder than you think but very, very human. Excellent work, hear it.

l'Innomable

Pilgrim Talk

Nick Hoffman - Bruiser (Pilgrim Talk)

Hoffman's disc begins rather disconcertingly, with a spray of percolating electronics that immediately conjures up aural images of 70s sci-fi flicks, the psychedelic sounds an electronic brain would make while going haywire. In several seconds, though, it subsides into a dark, low set of tones quite at variance with those sounds, setting up a tasty dichotomy on the short track and leading one to what follows. Hoffman includes the inscription: Rules: Computer sets frequency, composer sets duration. I take it, then, that a program chooses when to switch attacks (the four pieces are subtitled, "sine", "square", "fm" and "mix", indicating, in three out of four instances anyway, the source of the tones). This removal of direct human intervention, in the case of sound like these, works pretty well, eliminating easy drama, requiring the listener to simply experience the sounds in succession. If anything, it might be the nature of the sounds, very "cold" in a sense, that could put some folk off. I was reminded of Marcus Schmickler's solo efforts of the last decade, tough nuts to worm one's way into (I note that these tracks were recorded in 2008, mixed and mastered this year). Then again, amidst the all the harshness, something incredible appears like the pings at the close of "Green Dust", wavelets that do marvelous things to one's ears. The longer title cut uses more varied sources, including field recordings, and somehow seems more "humanly" edited, the pieces flowing into one another less abruptly. It's very satisfying, a real strong track, and contrasts well with the preceding three. A good, tough recording, well worth hearing.

Coppice - Epoxy (Pilgrim Talk)

Utterly without intention, Coppice's "Epoxy" offers an example of intuitive use of diverse sounds that, while not unenjoyable, fails to connect to these ears as strongly as the programmed portions of Hoffman's disc (I'm guessing this will be a minority opinion). A cassette release consisting or two (or more?) trio versions of a piece called "Seam", as performed by some combination of Coppice proper (Noé Cueller and Joseph Kramer on bellows-oriented devices and electronics, assisted in some unspecified manner by Carol Genetti, Sarah J. Ritch, Berglind Tómasdóttir and Julia A. Miller) recorded in 2011-12. The music is fairly continuous and ropey, often rough-edged in nature, raspy and nodose; at lower volume levels, a hollow eeriness appears, sometimes recalling theremins from old horror films. A throb of sorts tends to be present, imparting a vague industrial aspect especially given the grimy nature of sounds. There are abrupt cessations, the music picking up in an entirely other nature yet, somehow, the feel I get is of more control and choice than in the earlier disc. Of course, this can and often is a fine thing but, perhaps unduly influenced by "Bruiser", I found I wanted to hear less of that, more impersonality. Tough to quantify--on the second cut, I'm reminded a bit of the NYC branch (Kamerman, Rosenberg, etc.) but without the kind of nonchalant incision that marks the best of their work. I don't mean to be so down--it's really a solid recording and I'm sure there will be others that get deeply into it more than I. It's just that I felt the elements could have been marshaled more powerfully with greater clarity and concentration. Please hear for yourself, though.

Pilgrim Talk

Ewen/Smith - Background Information

Sandy Ewen/Damon Smith - Background Information (Balance Point Acoustics)

This release is unusual, for me, for a couple of reasons. One, I'm writing about it based on downloaded sound files heard over my Macbook, something I prefer not to do for obvious sound quality reasons but, that's how it was presented so all caveats therein apply. Second, the duo, guitar and bass with objects, laptop and field recordings, at least abuts on an area that I'm less than comfortable with, the more fervently active area of free improv, that space where my subjective sense iis one of claustrophobia, where, despite the appellation 'free improv' there exist entire worlds of sound that simply won't be admitted. I don't know Ewen's work as near as I can recall, but I've heard an amount of Smith's over the years and have noted that he often straddles these fussy divides, working with Rowe here, Kaiser there, etc. So I was intrigued. As is usually the case, matters are more complicated than easy preconceptions.

The first of four tracks indeed begins in that scratchy realm, the pair sounding as though irritating their strings with combs or other thin, plastic objects. It's an active, prickly 'scape, the sort I often lose patience with. about midway through its 21 minutes, however, the pair ratchet things down just a tad and it's enough to veer the music (to my ears) into a much more enjoyable area, one adjacent to the quite/rough work Rowe has been doing in recent years (with Sachiko M on "contact", for example). Later, some plucks acquire a crystalline aspect that's quite appealing, though the agitative approach also regains sway; an interesting, expansive track though, even if it gave me some agita. The second track begins even more forthrightly in the scratchy zone before veering abruptly into some deliciously sour dronage; again, a half and half experience for this listener. Similarly, even more so, for the next piece, ranging from more extreme assertiveness to delicate plinking over distant, tolling tones; I want to hear more space--the guitar especially, in those otherwise very attractive latter moments, feels intrusive and inconsiderate though, again, the very last sounds, over Smith's rich arco, are delightful. The final cut doesn't stray far either, more brutally rubbed strings here--you can feel catgut straining.

There's a sameness of surface that nags at me here. Every time I pick up Smith's beautiful low playing, I want more and I want it surrounded by either simply the room or adjacent to a companion who's willing to lay out more than Ewen. That approach, though, is very much in keeping with a certain method of attack and it's done quite well; it's just not my particular cuppa. As is, there are nuggets to extract here and "Background Information" is worth hearing, even by those who share my inclinations, if only to shake it up a bit. I'm guessing Smith is quite aware of these issues, perhaps doesn't consider them issues at all. Listened to as a kind of counter-argument to my preconceived notions, it's good, wry fun.

But you can hear for yourself here at Balance Point Acoustics.

Another Timbre, August 2013

Antoine Beuger - Cantor Quartets (Another Timbre)

Admirers of Beuger have had little to complain about recently, this fine release coming on the heels of the Pisaro/Beuger collaboration on Erstwhile and just preceding a new one on l'Innomable. An excess of evanescent riches.

You can see a description of the piece here as well as a copy of the score. As noted, four pages out of 15 are presented on two discs here, the performances taking between 34 and 40 minutes each, presented by the rather stellar quartet of Jürg Frey (clarinet), Sarah Hughes (e-bow zither), Dominic Lash (double bass) and Radu Malfatti (trombone). Even without the explanation, the music is extremely transparent, the long, soft notes, in unison or adjacent octaves, accreting gradually, with vast silences between, the sounds emerging and disappearing like 15 minutes of morning light patterns on a wall. (looking at the Dan Flavin installation at Dia Beacon last week, I was strangely reminded of Beuger's music, though mentally substituting--if this is conceivable--a range of whites instead of Flavin's candy tones) Even more so than with much of Beuger's music, or related work, the listener is virtually forced to consider surrounding environmental sounds; more often than not, I find them to be central, tinged by Beuger's. This morning, someone in an apartment on our street was playing what sounded like a Middle Eastern flute, perhaps a ney; it meshed beautifully, as do cars and street sweepers. I was often unaware when a disc had ended.

I can imagine that performing the work is an exacting affair. So odd, and wonderful, that listening to it is the opposite.

Christoph Schiller - Variations (Another Timbre)

I still have some difficulty coming to terms with Schiller's music, probably due in large part to a genetic dispositive aversion to all things harpsichordian. (I find various definitions of "spinet", though most indicate at least a strong affinity to the harpsichord). As much as someone like Schiller does to mask it, that metallic buzz seeps in an incurs memories of everything from cheesy horror films to Paul Mauriat's "Love Is Blue". I do try to persevere, however. These variations comprise seven pieces, all between five and six minutes, and, in fact, form a progression from spinet to objects to piano in a symmetrical sequence (s/2s/so/oo/op/pp/p), largely utilizing extended techniques but with the occasional rich chord plunked down. I prefer the latter portions, the richness of the piano(s) simply more appealing to these ears, even when infiltrated with objects that cause vibrations not so dissimilar to the spinet. There's a bit too much scrabbling about in some parts but when Schiller pauses and listens, as in Variations 6 & 7, the results are entrancing. Curious to hear more and would like very much to catch Schiller in concert; I've a sense that many of these sounds would tickle my ears more in a live setting.

Anders Dahl & Skogen - Rows (Another Timbre)

I was one of the few listeners to have a so-so reaction to the previous Skogen release, which appeared on any number of year's best lists. Well, I enjoy this one a good bit more even if I still somehow expect more, especially given the participants: Angharad Davies (violin), Magnus Granberg (piano, clarinet), Ko Ishikawa (sho), Anna Lindal (violin), Toshimaru Nakamura (no-input mixing board), Henrik Olsson (bowls, glasses) and Peter Wästberg (contact mic, objects, feedback) with Eric Carlsson (percussion) on two cuts.. Here they perform nine "rows" (apparently extracted from a lengthy series) by Anders Dahl, shortish tracks lasting between two and eight minutes. I take it scores are involved, possibly graphic, but the pieces share a certain sensibility--calm but very concerned with sound color and differentiation, the long tones of the strings, sho and glassware blending with harsher, more abrupt ones from contact mic, piano, etc., though the instrument swap these sort of roles regularly. On "Row 35, for instance, the piano and glass strike ringing, pure tones whilst scrabbling goes on around them, eating away at their clear surfaces. "Row 24" also plays with that kind of contrast, here between strings/sho and electronic crackles/percussion. The brevity of the tracks imparts a jewel-like character to the piece, something from which they benefit; there's a nice concision in play. I might have liked to hear more variation in the works though their similarity may be in keeping with Dahl's use of the term "row". An enjoyable effort, one that wormed its way onto my good side after several listens.

Another Timbre

New Address

All you kind people who send music my way, please note my new address, effective immediately:

Brian Olewnick
2 Rue Adolphe Mille
Paris 75019
France

thanks very much and thanks for all the wonderful music.

this place/ is love

Antoine Beuger/Michael Pisaro - this place/is love (Erstwhile)

The work begins in very un-Wandelweiser fashion, with a strong note played on, I think, a harpsichord (prepared spinet?), quite forthrightly. After several identical notes, a recording of an interior space enters and a surprising sequence of chords occurs, four of them, very romantic in nature. Four more follow, belying the first quartet, somewhat sour, then three more, ambiguously between the first two sets in feeling.

So begins "this place/is love" a kind of quiet epic (76 minutes in length) that, as with much or Pisaro's recent work, resists easy encapsulation or structural grasp. I say "Pisaro" as I have the impression that the more strictly musical elements of the piece strike me as stemming more from him than Beuger, where the latter contributed the words, both his own and those from other authors (Anna Swir, Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge and Edmond Jabès) and perhaps the overall idea as well, I'm not sure. Blindfolded, I would have pegged this as Pisaro. Whatever the case, the composition is very expansive, the structures large enough to make glimpsing them in their entirety a task that's often beyond me. I'm told that in the first half or more of the piece, the elements repeat twice (some I can hear, some escape me) in waves, while in the latter portion elements are subtracted out; this last is apparent as sounds become far sparser in closing 20-odd minutes.

THe music unfurls calmly, each section lapping over its predecessor, reminding me of wax collecting at the base of a candle. The words are either spoken (often in a dreamily sing-song fashion that recalls Cage) or intoned, always softly and slowly. Perhaps the most jarring elements are those intonations which take some getting used to and connote memories of other music, some of which might be off-putting; some will doubtless hit on monastic singing though I make the weird association with some of the vocal segments of Centipede's "Septober Energy" so be forewarned. There's very much a sense of them sliding past each other and the adjacent sounds, like twigs and leaves flowing downstream at slightly different rates. The words center around aspects of love, including purity (even virginity), longing, the concept of "trace", ultimately channeling into the single Jabès line: "this place is love. it is absence of place".

For listeners familiar with the work of either creator, especially Pisaro, the various sounds employed will be familiar: smoothly modulated sine tones, nondescript (but fascinating) field recordings, single, pristine guitar notes, extended silences; that harpsichord is the one that stands out as unusual. But of course it's not about audio novelty but the sequencing and layering of those sounds and, here especially, their resonance with the text. To my ears this is brilliantly accomplished, in a, for lack of a better term, poetic manner that's next to impossible to quantify. A touchy subject, full of pitfalls, but they manage to avoid sentimentality while remaining subtly moving. It's certainly a contemplative, even melancholy appreciation of the emotion, not an aggressive, bodily-fluid approach, something that some listeners may find wanting (art gallery vs. the streets).

The work gradually dissipates, mere wisps of sound circulating amidst lengthy periods of silence. There's a sequence of isolated, identical guitar notes, one every 25-30 seconds, plus an extended silence or two, that essentially closes out the work, leading to that final, slow and considered reading by Beuger.

This recording won't, I don't think, change the minds of those engaged in recent Wandelweiserian debates on IHM and, more recently, on the eai Facebook page. I find it both elusive and fascinating, sometimes vaguely irritating (the intonations) but always recouping and retrospectively framing those portions in a way that satisfies. I wish I was able to "stand back" at more distance and really appreciate the form; will have to work on that. I've listened about a dozen times and have always enjoyed it, even after it "leave[s] no trace, like birds in the sky".

Erstwhile

7/9

I'll be gadding about the US for the next three or so weeks, so no new reviews until early August.

Hope to see everyone then...

7/4

Lao Yang - Untitled (Subjam)

I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that this isn't the first time, in world history, that a saw wheel has come packaged in a CD case as an object of contemplation. True, I haven't heard of any specific example before this but, if you were thinking about more or less circular, flat items to substitute for an audio disc, such a thing could well have sprung to mind. It's very attractive, after all, burnished steel, in this instance bearing four incisions (mine has four; the above, three) and two shade tones. It connotes sound, a fairly specific, high volume sound that can, in my experience, hover on that fine line between excruciating and divine, inhabiting an area not so far from some noise climes. It implies a kind of violence. It has heft. It feels cool, smooth and somewhat uncomfortable in one's hands. More, Lao Yang has filled the anterior section of the CD case wi a folded rectangle of black sandpaper (rough side exposed front and back) and sandwiched the blade between two discs of same, a half-inch circular hole in their center. There's no printing whatsoever to be found anywhere; all is black or silver. Not quite true--turning over the sandpaper reveals the iterated identification, "P400", the grade of the material, I assume. But there are a couple of other, small, odd things. On my copy (I have no idea if this is the case throughout the run of 50 which, per the website, are not for sale), there are two small, about a centimeter square, placards of thin cardboard. On one, floating loosely inside the case, is a drawing of a man in glasses wearing headphones, his mouth covered by an impossible to identify shape. On the other, slightly larger and wedged between the CD backing and the back of the case, is a pair of workman's or gardening gloves, one laid atop the other. Both drawings have a kind of ideographic quality as though they're abstract representatives of some function or occupation. Perhaps it's someone, and his apparel, who operates a saw.

Olaf Hochherz - watching (Kwanyin)

"Half-animals" is how Hochherz describes the creatures he's created here. The uninformed listener may wonder if he's listening to especially clear and pristine field recordings of insect, amphibian and bird life or if it's an entirely electronic construct. I think the latter though I'm not sure the sounds, or some of them, don't have an ultimate genesis in the analog world. In any case, we're presented with some 42 minutes of these sounds, varying about as much or little as one might encounter near a pond at night, chirruping along at a low level, quite individuated, with the random odd sound or momentary increase in volume. It slips easily into whatever your ambient environment happens to be, unassuming, just slightly alien, a gentle forest of electronic crickets and peepers. Strangely satisfying, somehow more so than many a "real" field recording.

Tim Blechmann/Manuel Knapp - untitled 89 (Kwanyin)

When last heard from (by me), only a couple of months back, mssrs. Blechmann and Knapp had produced a work titled "VIII", a lengthy, droning surge that was ok if a bit thin in substance. This one has some of that feeling, but more structural variation and more reverberant, vibratory kind of sound. I just happened to have rewatched 'Stalker' for the third time the other evening; not sure if I would have attached a Stalker-ish aspect to this music had I not but, well, you could do worse for comparisons. It's bleakly industrial, a barely functioning factory in the wee hours, sluggishly in motion, lights barely flickering. It combusts now and then, sizzles for a bit, subsides. Blechmann and Knapp do a really good job reining in any potentially showoff-y or spectacular urges, keeping things multiple shades of gray, richly layered. Good job, strong work.

btw, you can hear these releases - well, two of them - at the site below...

Subjam/Kwanyin

7/3

Matthieu Ruhlmann - This Star Teaches Bending (3LEAVES)

Every so often, in this general area, a work appears laden with strong personal emotion not normally associated with such abstract music. Jason Lescalleet's "The Pilgrim" was once such notable event and Ruhlmann's "This Star Teaches Bending" is another. Hear, a musical document is constructed from the various, often tiny sounds encountered during the treatment of Ruhlmann's mother, who had been diagnosed with a rare and terminal lung condition. He presents five pieces, listing the sources which include an oxygen tank, rubber gloves, room lights, a respirator and, notably, one track whose sounds derive entirely from "amplified stomach fasting for 3 days". How to quantify? If I attempt to listen 'disinterestedly", that is, simply as a sequence of sound, it's an engaging disc, very subtle and subdued, perhaps with an air of menace, very restrained, sounding more or less pretty close to what it is: items and machines operating indoors, machines not desgned for sound emission but emtting nonetheless. Of course, given the stated facts about the nature of the work, it's absurd not to think of the context and, for me, this only serves to strengthen the release. I know some may have trepidation about injecting such emotional content into what's essentially a set of field recordings but, for me, if it's done without sentimentality (or even, at times, with such, as is arguably the case with Lescalleet's daughter singing 'Molly Malone' on his album) I'm fine with it and Ruhlmann is nothing if not unsentimental. There's a clearheadedness here, a real examination of sounds and what, here, they truly mean that's bracing, up to an especially including the stomach sequence. Strong stuff, excellent work.

3LEAVES

(no idea why the image above and the one at bottom are displaying so large--can't figure out a fix)

Kiiln - Is Music Invisible? (caduc)

Kiiln consisting of Ruhlmann (ukelin, cymbal, piano, amplified objects) and Lance Austin Olsen (tape players, radio, amplified objects, trainer guitar). A set of five pieces with what I'd have to say is an AMMish tinge, meant in a good way. Spare, with gently grating electronics, discreet radio emergences (sounds like a Barber Essay for Orchestra at one point, maybe not), sound sources that linger a bit then cut off unexpectedly. Almost all on the quiet side but with a very wide textural range in that dynamic spectrum resulting in a fine feeling of variation. This is one of those recordings that, short of describing sounds blow by blow, I'm at something of a loss to try to otherwise encapsulate. It's really strong though, flows beautifully, makes few missteps--everything sounds both fresh and considered, nothing overstaying its welcome. Invisible enough, I daresay. Good stuff, try to give a listen.

caduc

(Various) Eksperiment Slovenia (SIGIC)

A compilation of contemporary trends in Slovenia, thirteen tracks by musicians largely unknown to me, excepting Tomaž Grom, Michel Doneda, Jonas Kocher (all on one track, plus Grom appears on a separate solo performance and in a trio), Miha Ciglar and Seijiro Murayama (not Slovenian but peripatetic). Unsurprisingly, the cuts are wide-ranging in both approach and quality. The piece with Grom, Doneda, Kocher and Tao G. Vrhovec Sambolec (on computer) is a performance remixed by Giuseppe Ielasi and, as such, is an engaging, bumpy ride with shifting, prismatic coloration, very active, rambunctious and exciting. Marko Karlovčec offers an intriguing alto improvisation, rattling and humming in a rather unique manner, with the inclusion of, if not a large fly, a damn good imitation of one. My favorite discovery on this disc is the composer Bojana Šaljić Podešva, whose "Meditation on Closeness", for magnetic tape and accordion (Luka Juhart) is a wonderful mass of quivering energy--want to hear more! Grom's solo is strong of its type; not up my alley but those who enjoy the Guy/Leandre axis will certainly dig. Vanilla Riot's music is better than its name, sounding like Blind Idiot God on meth. Sambolec's "Caressing the Studio (Bed, Table, Window, Chair) sounds like just that, its billowy rustles very attractive and absorbing. Other cuts are more run of the mill, though there's nothing aggressively bad here. Worth checking out if the above intrigues you and someone give me a line on Podešva's other available work.

SIGIC

pizMO - blst (fibrr)

Every so often, pizMO emerges, bearing news from the Nantes noise scene--Christophe Havard, Jerome Joy and Julien Ottavi. Although not always the case, "noise" in Nantes, in my experience, carries less of the adolescent, rock-oriented vibe that it often does elsewhere, instead tracing its lineage back through the likes of Tudor ("Rainforest" was just recreated there a couple of weeks back by Ottavi and the crew at apo33). Make no mistake, "blst" is every bit as explosive as its title connotes, but one has the impression of hearing hyper-magnified activity that occurs at some micro-level, possibly within the entrails of DIY electronic devices of great complexity. It's a massive, 53-minute block of sound in one respect, but that block is a conglomerate, permeated with materials of varying density and color as well as pockets of air (or other gaseous substances). Hard to escape the aural illusion of magma, liquefying in immense heat, congealing into a smoky crust, fracturing, on and on but at the same time semi-alive, as though lava-based creatures are in the process of being formed. There's a danger of over-satiation; ensembles like pisMO tend to eschew sparseness and silence, requiring a constant bob and weave from the participants as they negotiate their way through a more viscous medium than classic AMM or post-AMM environs--no time is spent in contemplation. Now and then, they run up against a wall, sputter, emit a silly or teeth-grating sound or two, but generally they do a really impressive job at creating a living, variegated form. As with much of the successful music in this neck of the woods, I'd love to have heard this immersed in a large space, hordes of speakers surrounding. As is, "blst" is a fine document, robust, writhing and tentacular.

fibrr

Going - Going I (silent water)

A double duo of two keyboards (Giovanni Di Domenico and Pak Yan Lau) and two percussionists (Joao Lobo and Matthieu Calleja). While I know I'm not the onl one out there with an abiding and unreasonable love of the sound of a distorted Fender Rhodes, I'm probably in smaller company with my long-term affection from that early ECM release from Keith Jarrett and Jack DeJohnette, "Ruta & Daitya" (the former's last venture into electronics?). Going doubles down on the instrumentation while summoning up a similar post-Milesian spirit, with related rhythms and keyboard scurrying. It lacks the over-the-top funkiness of the earlier work (sometimes the beats are a bit leaden, as in "Fara"). An unfair standard to hold this quartet to in any case and on its own the music flows pretty well. Maybe, in a more contemporary vein, think of it as a variant on Radian or Trapist--enjoyable, lightly beat-driven music with imaginative, keyboard-oriented washes and distortion atop. A fun trip.

Mulabanda - Lift Your Toes (silent water)

Another Di Domenico project, again with Lobo in two, along with Daniele Martini (saxophone, percussion) and Bruno Ferro Xavier da Silva (electric bass, electronics, percussion). Miles circa "Bitches Brew" once again hovers over the proceedings on the first of two tracks, with the warped Rhodes and the snare beats; generally, it's in the same area as the Going recording. Side 2 ventures into entirely different territory, percussion and electronics to the four, constructing odd and intricate rhythmic patterns offset against squalls of harsh noise. It eventually settles into a sizzling kind of industrial area, conjuring images of arc wielding. Somehow, I'm recalling FM Einheit. Interesting track, though, coursing through some unusual areas. Those interested in variations of this order of jazz funk will enjoy.

silent water

Nick Hennies - Flourish (Consumer Waste)

In the last several years, Hennies has performed, among others, numerous pieces by Alvin Lucier, so it's not a total surprise to encounter that decided influence in "Flourish (for vibraphone duo). What may be a bit surprising is how fresh and alive and downright absorbing the music is despite, or because of, this influence. Though for duo, the work can apparently be performed by a single musician; in either case he/they move about the vibraphone, playing defined sequences at different points. Within each segment, there's a consistent rhythm, faster or slower, the initial pair of mallets generally joined by the second, resulting in shimmering patterns of overtones and room-molded sounds. There's a clear lineage to works like Lucier's "Still and Moving Lines of Silence in Families of Hyperbolas" though Hennies dispenses with sine tones and doubles the acoustic instrumentation. As in those pieces, one teeters ever so delicately on that divide between the aesthetic and the science experiment if one chooses to make the distinction (I do this less so than many, I'm guessing, but still there are times in Lucier's music where the sheer experiential data outweighs the beauty). The transparent presentation of sonic phenomena can be off-putting to some but, in this instance, I find the results gorgeous, mysterious and compelling enough in themselves, more than enough to sensuously wallow in.

(While writing about this release, I had occasion to see an in-store concert by Tom Johnson, performing (with Carol Robinson) two of his works, "Music with Mistakes" and "Questions". It provided a fairly clear offset to Hennies' music insofar as it wandered rather far into the science--actually, in this instance, mathematics--end of things, any emergent properties all but evaporating. In fairness, Johnson eschews such emergence but, as intellectually interesting as some of the night's sounds were, a good part of me longed to hear something along the lines of "Flourish")

RIght from the start, those great bent tones entrance, more so when mirrored a fraction of a second apart; you know you're hearing an iterated acoustical phenomenon yet/and you could listen for hours. The work is more chronicle than narrative, each segment a kind of time period within which something happens (what isn't?), the sequencing taking care not to leave any two overly akin portions adjacent to each other but otherwise with no hierarchical sense. Surprises abound. When the rapid fire second series begins, at first it sounds ordinary enough but one gradually picks up layers and patterns that weren't overt on first blush and when the second pair of mallets emerges, the spectral sheen produces waves of giddy sonic glee. Each section is given several minutes to gestate, allowing the listener to piece together relationships within the sounds and there are plenty to discover. It close with a near-silent episode, sounding as if one is hearing the music from a house two doors down. A wonderful recording, automatic for fans of Hennies or the lineage of which he's a part.

VA AA LR - It Just Ain't Flapping (Consumer Waste)

When last we left Mssrs. Vasco Alves, Adam Asnan and Louie Rice, they were sending off distress flares, wielding fire extinguishers and other assorted hardware. I don't recall if I summoned the ghost of Voice Crack on that occasion but they're lingering about now in the sense that the sounds seem often to derive from some variation of "cracked electronics" and commonly contain at least a smidgen of buried pulse. That said, I enjoy this trio's music more in that there's less a feeling of the spectacular and more of just going about their business with an intelligent inquisitiveness and a finer idea of space. Maybe think: the nephews of the Bohman Brothers. Descriptors are pretty useless. Yes, there's a Stevie Wonder capture along the way, but it's just one element submerged among hundreds. The point, for me, is the flow, the obvious imagination in effect, the avoidance of too many cliches (hey, everyone hits some...), the evocation of a real space in which fascinating things occur for 36 minutes in an array of colors, most of them rusty. That's enough. A really strong recording - check it out.

Consumer Waste

Bruno Duplant/Darius Ciuta - (G)W(3) (Mystery Sea)

I'm not precisely sure of the background to the two pieces presented here; apparently they're derived from scores by Ciuta, a Lithuanian musician/composer. Whether he contributes directly to the (presumably) long-range collaboration or whether what we hear are Duplant's realization on his own isn't apparent. In any case, we experience some 79 minutes of subdued, atmospheric sounds (very much in keeping with much of the label's output) that carries vague nautical connotations to this listener--distant foghorns, the knocking of floating objects against wooden pilings, a generally aqueous feel. The music is simultaneously rich in terms of detailed layering and almost uniformly quiet, enough so that, at times, it almost fades out entirely. It's also sonorous and rounded, entirely "unobjectionable" which may be a positive or negative attribute depending on the listener's predilections. Every so often, for example near the 30-minute mark, there are hints of far away conflagrations, shards of sound that might read as harsh were they closer at hand that serve to inject a degree of necessary abrasiveness lest the affair become too lulling. More descriptives would only belabor the point. Some may find it too long and self-similar for sustained concentration, others may not (I don't). Some may prefer to use it in an ambient manner, for which it works fairly well. A good recording, to these ears, very satisfying, like lying down in an isolated, sonically intriguing environment, waiting for a nap that never arrives.

Mystery Sea

Kassel Jaeger - Rituel de la Mort du Soleil (Unfathomless)

It would be curious to gauge the reaction of the droves of O'Rourke-oids who find their way to a release like this, now that Jaeger has been singled out as a new-found favorite. Given that it's a run limited to 200 copies, better get yours quickly. I'm guessing this "ritual" is one of Jaeger's own devising, as I googling pretty much results in this disc alone, but he seems to want to harken back to the possibility that similar events occurred in times past in this region of central France. Tee result is a combination of on-sire recording (insects, pond sounds, presumably more) and Jaeger's contributions to the landscape, including wood, bones and, to be sure, processing. As with much of his previous work that I've heard, there's an underlying pulse of sorts, though never so prominent as to be intrusive, more a series of varied throbs that oar the music down its sluggish waters. There is a humidity or sorts in play here, a "closing in" of the surroundings, though perhaps my ear-to-brain connection is overly influenced by the shamanistic photos in the booklet. Something doesn't entirely click for me here; perhaps it's simply the knowledge that a ritual is being invoked, however obliquely, and I'm not too keen on the general subject, imparting, for me, a hokey ambience. Maybe it's also the heavy hand of post-production, as when cycles of sound clusters are iterated in a manner that, however blurred, imply a mechanical aspect that conflicts with my image of the nighttime countryside. The second half of the disc is more stable, fairly steady-state and works the better for that, though still, I can't say I found it gripping; listenable but not so memorable, not nearly as memorable, I imagine, as sitting out in that field may have been.

Unfathomless

Jon Rose - Rosin (ReR)

Another thing that occurs every so often is that a release will wend itself to my mailbox which, upon opening, elicits a WTF?!? response from your reviewer. This is a pretty good example of that phenomenon. I'd never received anything from ReR before, am not aware of knowing anyone there. I'm pretty sure I've never written up anything from Rose, only typing his name in passing as a sideman on this project or that (The President, I think, and Chadbourne's "Country Music from Southeastern Australia") and even those had to have been written 15 years ago. Further, I should say that nothing I've heard from Rose on radio or elsewhere over my adult life has ever particularly moved me. Yet here it is and here I am, so I shall dutifully attempt to at least describe the production (and quite a production it is) and offer my commentary for what it's worth.

This is a 4-disc set, in a book-sized case, honoring Rose's 60th birthday. Three of the discs are music, one a data disc (using QuickTime). There's a booklet elaborately illustrated with photos, replete with descriptions of the music and appreciative essays from Bob Ostertag, Kersten Glandien, David Harrington and Richard Barrett. Oh, and there's also a small plastic packet, autographed and numbered, containing some curled up strands from, one presumes, Rose's violin bow. Fetishism, anyone?

The discs contain groups of related work, not just a random selection. Disc One begins with 13 extracts from Rose's Pannikin project, a multimedia event featuring various musicians from Australia's DIY underbelly, including a brass bands, a hummer/whistler, a cocktail pianist, a virtuoso whip master, a chainsaw orchestra and a dingo. Rose seems to usually fit himself into the action, though not always. It's wacky. There's a kind of Breukerish sensibility here and, depending on one's tolerance for same, the sounds can come across as enjoyably weird and whimsical or trivially aggravating. I wavered between these two poles, save for the wonderful song by the Ntaria Aboriginal Ladies Choir, though I wish Rose hadn't intervened musically. "Internal Combustion" is described as a "multimedia violin concerto", performed with Robin Fox and Ensemble United Berlin. The music is actually pretty much in line with my mental mage of Rose's work--spiky in that combination of Boulezian and prog rock sense, as one may have heard in some 80s Zappa. I'm not a fan but listeners attuned to that world may well enjoy this; it's very capably and precisely performed. A radio piece, "Syd and George" combines recorded conversation with a string quartet (all parts played by Rose). Oh, George is a lyrebird. As with the aboriginal choir piece, this would have been far more rewarding without the accompaniment; Syd and his friend are quite entertaining enough. The disc concludes with an excellent track in which Rose's violin, contact mic'd from the inside, is laid face down on the ground in the rain. Fantastic sounds.

The second disc begins with extracts from a work in honor of Charles Ives, "Charlie's Whiskers" (2004), for strings, solo fiddle, piano, saw, interactive bow and live sampling. At its best, it has a giddy, kind of John Oswald feel, the strings sliding and slithering in an odd, greasily electronic fashion. Not surprisingly, the Ives of "Battle Cry of Freedom" is emphasized, though not nearly as insanely hilarious as the old bird himself, but overall the set works well, Ivan Siller's fiddle in the fifth section a notable highlight. "Talking Back to the Media", as I understand it, uses random, live radio (and other media?) snatches as source material for an ensemble to react to, or against, all of the action live-edited by Rose. Notable musicians involved in this undertaking are Chris Abrahams, Martin Ng and Clayton Thomas, among others. There's enough variety to carry the work a good distance with, often, a rich, burbling stew manifesting, though the 36 minutes presented here (carved out of 55) begins to pall a bit in its hyperactivity--it's not exactly a close listening session; Rose in in little danger of being co-opted by Wandelweiser. Immersed in a room surrounded by it, I can see the attraction, though "Rainforest" it's not. And, lastly in Round Two, what's an avant Australian disc without a cut devoted to the native warblings of a front-end hoe excavator? "Digger Music" documents such, once again accompanied by Rose's frenetic violin stylings. They're a bit better integrated here and one can, in fact, imagine a duet of sorts, a humorous enough image. Oh wait, there's a bonus track. "Bonus track"? I fail to understand the rationale of not listing it in the booklet instead, a little secretly, doing so on an insert. Ah, well. "Bird Verb" is for solo tenor violin, an instrument possessing an extraordinary sound; I'm glad they appended it as it's my favorite specifically Rose-centered work on the set, with fine dark, entwining drones and harmonics.

"Sphere", which leads off Disc Three, is tough to describe. It involves balls, though in what manner, I'm not sure (here's one approach that I don't think is utilized on this particular piece). There's a choir singing "Latin texts of misanthropic sentiment", a harpsichord-sounding instrument, violin and much tape manipulation. Again, it's sonically entertaining for a bit though too much on the audio hijinx side of things for my taste. Others will differ. Now, it's hard to imagine going far wrong bowing wire fences. I kind of wish an exterior recording had been provided, Rose and Hollis Taylor having their way with a miles long instrument (this is done on the video disc). Instead, we have a piece played on a home construction (five wires, one barbed, four regulation) devised at the request of Kronos' David Harrington (for stage play). "Garage Fence" finds the pair sawing and tapping way, producing cool sound after cool sound. Again, given my druthers, I'd've preferred more listening, more awareness of their surroundings (a garage!) but, on its own terms, it's quite enjoyable, occasionally generating a fine, massive buzz. Imagine a more, um, barbarous version of Frith's first guitar solos album...The tenor violin returns in non-bonus track garb for "Hyper", a nine-part suite of miniatures, using a MIDI controller bow. Probably the least enjoyable section of the set, skittery and aimlessly effects-driven, a pallid mixture of 60s tape sounds and Zorn circa "Book of Heads". The final audio disc closes with "Palimps", a quartet of pieces utilizing a K-Bow which sounds like a drastic updating of Laurie Anderson's tape bow, capable of generating all sorts of non-violinoid sounds. I'm not entirely convinced--again, much of it, whatever the source, sounds akin to a good deal of "classical" electronic music one has heard since the 70s, but the matrix Rose constructs often contains impressive space and apparent distance between elements; again, something I'd like to hear in situ, in a 3D environment. Oh, did I say, "closes"? Nope, another bonus track. sigh. "Pursuit Mix" for recycled "junk" powered by bicycles. Works very well though, like an ancient, wheezing calliope on wheels. Nice piece.

The QuickTIme disc contains 13 videos and one sound file, the latter being a humorous performance of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto with Rose interpolating his own playing into a mashed up recording of same, complete with enthusiastic audience applause. The others visually document several of the projects encountered earlier, some of which were rewarding to actually see, including three fence events (though one wishes to have heard these sounds in the open space oneself; I think much is lost) and a number of the bicycle-propelled devices which often have a Partchian charm in addition to producing compelling if droll sounds. His, for my ears, generally overactive approach is clearly seen and heard on a 1982 video wherein he lustily attacks his 19-string, mutant cello but, on the other hand, it serves him quite well in a refreshing solo violin performance in front of the Sydney Opera House which concludes with admonishments against this activity from a security guard, Rose arguing whilst playing, telling the guard, "Only one minute left...50 seconds..." down to the piece's conclusion. "You're not allowed to play music in front of the Sydney Opera House." :-)

Obviously, this is a no brainer for fans of Rose. I'm glad to have heard/seen it as, even though at the end of the day it doesn't really overlap with my main areas of interest, it opened up aspects of his work of which I was unaware and, even for me, there are a few nuggets buried within that made the excursion worthwhile. Would like to hear a piece written for him by, say, Antoine Beuger and contemplate the resultant tension.

ReR

Jason Hoopes/Agnes Szelag - October Pieces and Shadows (Trestle)

Sometimes a release happens along that touches on two or three aspects of listening to and writing about new music. One is when something appears out of the blue, from musicians of whom I'd never heard, that just bowls me over on first blush. I recall when Vanessa Rossetto sent me her first three discs being totally floored. It's a wonderful thing and occurred here, with this duo album from Hoopes (piano) and Szelag (cello). Immediately, I was entranced by the dark, lush but slightly acid-tinged chords, the slow, seesawing piano, dreamy and poignant but managing to skirt any sentimentality. Really stunning.

Then, on re-listen, I thought, "Wait a minute. Was I too 'generous'? Had I been lulled in a kind of soporific state? Was there really that much there?" This happens sometimes, when one can be overwhelmed by an extremely attractive surface only to realize that it was a rather brittle shell, with only dusty air beneath. Well, I've been listening to this one for a few days now and, while I'd make no claim as to its earthshakingness, it's one lovely, moving set of music, subtly different from anything else readers here are likely to bump into.

A little searching around turned up evidence of the pair hailing from Mills College, both students of Fred Frith (Hoopes, most often a bassist as near as I can discern---though his piano work here is very sensitive--, is active in a trio with Frith and drummer Jordan Glenn, among other ventures whilst Szelag includes work with Chris Cutler and more). I can't say I hear much Frith in the music, though I certainly haven't kept up with his work in a long time, but other diverse reference points drifted around...There are five October Pieces written by Hoopes and two Shadows by Szelag. The Hoopes compositions are often based on two pairs of chords, gently but firmly played, suspended, forming a softly iterative framework through which the cello weaves long tones. The piano is largely consonant but just tart enough in the higher registers, richer and creamier in the lower, the cello tending toward adjacent tones that never quite smoothly mix in (a good thing) but create a color that's isolated but related. The tempo is always slow, the feeling melancholy and contemplative. The easy referent, one I know I make too often, is Gavin Bryars, by which I mean to say the "good" Bryars from around the "Hommages" period (late 70s, early 80s) prior to the overwrought excesses of his ECMization period. A similar brooding darkness, deeply Romantic in the classic sense of the term. Here and there I was reminded, oddly enough, of Michael Mantler's "No Answer", some similarity in the piano chords that's rare to come by. Other pieces strongly evoked Angelo Badalamenti, his sparser side ("October Pieces 4", in particular).

But enough of reference points. The two pieces by Szelag have a kind of plaintive urgency not quite encountered in those of Hoopes but otherwise the compositions are very much of a piece. Were I to quibble, I might say that the music is a bit too much of a piece over the course of the recording, but that's a tough complaint to file given how honest and beautiful it is. To these ears, the duo manages to avoid the traps of over-sweetness or mere nostalgia, composing and playing with an open, stirring sense of warmth and concentration. Listeners who love composers who are aware of all things contemporary but whose music is nonetheless connected to older traditions (Howard Skempton comes to mind) will find a huge amount to enjoy here. Dig in.

Available as a download from Trestle

Dmitriy Krotevich - olgoi-khorkhoi (Intonema)

Helluva cover, you gotta say, courtesy Solongo Monkhoorai, depicting the Mongolian death-worm (olgoi-khorkhoi), a crypto-zoological creature rumored to inhabit the Gobi.

It's fun to imagine the 33-minute track here as a kind of sonic recreation of this acid-spraying, electric shock-emitting beast, though in truth, the music is calmer than that, the turntables and nimb churning away in an absorbed, often contemplative attitude. Given the instrumentation, I was greatly encouraged by the mere fact that it didn't sound so much like other things in the area, very much retaining a unique character; no would be Nakamura here. Krotevich seems considerate and careful, navigating from space to space, investigating carefully, then moving on. His death-worm is of the ruminative variety. The piece begins with a low hum which is actually a sequence of globular, liquid pulses, very rapid but subdued, gradually incorporating iterated, broom-like swishes. Elements ebb and surface, not unlike many such ventures, but a) the sounds chosen almost always have a rightness to them and b) Krotevich has divided the work into discreet chapters; in this case, the breaks are welcome and often come at a time when the listener is feeling the tiniest tingle of discomfort with what has been transpiring the previous few minutes. Very well played. A loudish portion midway through uses intense staticky and whining sounds, the death-worm zapping the odd goat or nomad. That's preceded by a wonderful passage that sounds like decayed rotary telephone dialing adorned with crystalline pings that's inexplicably moving before it flutters up into the noisier segment. The disc concludes with a low, rumbling hum, the satisfied stomach sounds of the death-worm as it winds its way back across the sands.

A really fine effort, worth seeking out.


Ilia Belorukov - Tomsk, 2012 04 20 [Live] (Intonema)

Solo alto sax with preparations--treacherous ground to cover but Belorukov does pretty well. Three sections, the first what I always think of as "metal tube dynamics", the harsh scouring sound I often associate with Martin Küchen. Belorukov begins at medium volume before slowly becoming quieter and quieter, incorporating low key pops and soft squeaks; very nice, almost narrative flow here. The next piece uses soft cries and harmonics, presumably inspired by shakuhachi playing at the start, continuing on into low, quavering seesaws of pitch shifting. Again, very well done, sounds spread over a fair length with excellent concentration and fine allowance for space. The third track is very interesting, at least in the sense that I'm hearing it, as a kind of response to the saxophonics of players like Roscoe Mitchell(in the opening portion, all high, abrasively pinched tones) and Peter Brötzmann, in the mid and later stages. There, Belorukov still seems (happily) reluctant to automatically lurch into high volume, instead trying to negotiate Brötzmannian sturm und drang in a restrained manner, a quixotic venture to be sure, but one that's fascinating to hear. Indeed, the more I listen, the more a sense of Braxtonian categorization seems to be in play, a similar concentration on one or two essential elements in the improvisation and and elaboration of same. But whereas Braxton's have long since acquired an air of the formulaic, Belorukov, at the very least, brings a freshness and sense of discovery to the fore. If you haven't entirely given up on the saxophone's role in this area of music, "Tomsk" is a great place to rest your ears for a while.

Intonema

With Lumps (Neil Davidson/Fritz Welch) - Lumps for Lovin' (never come ashore)

Duos for guitar and percussion from 2011-12. My previous exposure to Davidson's work, on the Cthnor release and a couple of other items, gave me the impression of a fairly active improviser, a scrabbler of sorts, sometimes at the expense of thoughtfulness. Scurrying about and lack of care don't necessarily go hand in hand, of course, and some of the music presented here goes a long way toward negating any such presumption. The opening track, for instance, is quite busy but also very solid and imparting depth and resonance, with heavy buzzes oozing between the clatter and harsher rubbings. There's a thickness, an elasticity in play that breathes ideas into the music. The second cut, however, the inauspiciously titled "sign of the pagan", demonstrates the potential pitfalls of this approach, the incessant skronking and rumbling never quite gelling into anything more than itself and the "itself" not being of any great moment. "plinth glass nebula" fares a bit better, sawing wood given prominence, the guitar (?) creating bristling, finely uncomfortable clouds alongside, but petering out by its conclusion. The lengthy final cut, "National Bird of England" from 2012, contains welcome space, more air surrounding the instrumental sound and is pitched at a somewhat lower volume, all of which aid the cause immensely. Overall, a mixed bag for me but with some pointers toward a rewarding direction.


Muris with Lumps & Peter Nicholson - Michelada Miseries Part 1 (never come ashore)

A live date featuring a quartet of Davidson (acoustic guitar), Welch (percussion, amplifier), Peter Nicholson (voice, bowling) and Liene Rozite (anti flute). Always welcome to see not one, but two instrumental listings heretofore unknown...It's a pleasantly ramshackle affair, the sounds kind of tumbling out, rolling out, causing greater or lesser disturbances in the room. Nicholson's voice, surfacing periodically, is a connective element, warbling what seem to be snatches of either local (Scottish) song or, I sometimes get the impression, lieder from some source. The 32 minute set is similar to the last cut on the above release in that there's more space allowed and, implicitly, a greater consideration of the room. The sound range varies, no one is overly gabby and even the vocals, arch as they may be, manage to work out in this context, no mean feat for this listener's normal tolerance level. One of those seemingly casual sessions at which I oculd easily imagine myself, lolling about, enjoying as part of the larger environment, perhaps integrating sounds, sights and tactile sensations from outside the venue. Nice work.

never come ashore