Giuseppe Ielasi - 15 Tapes (Senufo Editions)

As indicated, 15 brief, often blistering pieces derived from taped sources. It's almost always been the case, for me with Ielasi's music, that I hear a strong underlying musicality, even a melodicism, in his work no matter how superficially abstract it gets. Still the same. Exceptional structure and depth throughout, each mini-track capturing something arresting, each a very different selection of noise, some ambient, some pristine, this one forlorn, that one brutal. All in less than 20 minutes.

Hard to say much more except that it's really good.


Bellows - Handcut (Senufo Editions)

Bellows is Ielasi and Nicola Ratti, wielding contact mics on vinyl, a Revox a77, memory man and sine waves. As enjoyable as "15 Tapes" is, this one is even better, one of my favorites of the year so far. Again, descriptors are hard to come by--there's greater cohesion in the sense of thoroughgoing throbs often being in play, though they're refreshingly irregular and shifting, even as they provide a gelatinous kind of substrate for the shattered, more etched tones and shards. Think of Gum filtered through early (and primo) Carl Stone, circa "Mom's". Maybe a touch of Fennesz and even (don't shudder) Fenn O'Berg, but rougher and with air surrounding the brittler edges. There's iteration, but always eroding, disintegrating.

The first eight tracks, recorded in 2009, were originally released on planam, the latter five, from 2010, new here. I can see some listeners finding the music perhaps a bit too digestible, palatable. But it suits me just fine---excellent recording.


Kessel Jaeger - algae (Senufo Editions)

From sources as varied as "positive organ". marxophone, tremoloa, turkish crescent, nfir and synth, Jaeger fashions a skittering, moody, dystopic soundscape that may indeed be algae-encrusted. I think I've heard two other discs by Jaeger (if thsa tbe a real name; I guess there's some doubt), one I liked very much on Mystery Sea and another I wasn't so keen on from unfathomless. This one lies somewhere in between. Drone-y, with some attractively buzzing metals drizzled over deep, lush organ-ics (presumably positive ones), it's reasonably immersive if not as gripping as I might like. The third track uses a type of sound I like a lot--I link it to thwacking the rods of a toy piano from the open end. I take it this isn't from such an instrument, unless that's what a marxophone is, but it's luscious to hear. (ooh--might be! looking it up, I see it's a fretless zither...). This last piece has the most depth; some eerie whines help out. Not bad, fine for the drone crowd.



Jennifer Veillerobe - Zweifarbige Gesten (Senufo Editions)

Hard to know what to make of this one. Electronics, I presumes synths of one sort or another, though there's other stuff afoot I take it, producing rougher statics and such. Very simply arrayed in the sense of pretty much one thin layer at a time, spaced apart somewhat but with no apparent structural form. On the one hand, it sounds like someone farting about with electronics, just eliciting whatever happens to come out when this knob is twiddled, that connection made. On the other, over its course, the music's spatial nature, especially when it eases into some Sachiko-esque scratching which it then offsets with deep, fluttery waves, is quite winning. Eventually, it sounds like a faint tea kettle, before ending with paired electronic tom-tom beats. Search me. I kinda liked it, not sure why.

senufo editions

Robin Hayward/Kristoffer Lo/Martin Taxt - Microtub (Sofa Music)

[my pc is temporarily--I hope--out of commission so I can't scan and I also can't find an image of this disc on-line, sorry]

Back in the mid 70s, Howard Johnson organized an all tuba band, six or seven of them, I think, called Gravity; maybe it's still extant, I don't know. I remember Braxton running into Johnson at Environ, enthusiastic about writing for the ensemble; also don't know if that ever happened. I guess there have been all tuba projects in the interim but I doubt they've been as focused and fascinating as this trio.

Two C-tubas and an F-tuba, the latter microtonal, though all three in tandem certainly depart from pitch standards. One track, some 32 minutes long, one linear idea. Linear, that is, stepping back a few paces, the way a dense rope might look linear. Within the strands, however, is an amazing depth of twining tones, long-held, resonating, forming fluctuating pulses that buffet the eardrums in delicious fashion. For the first half, well, there's more variation than in a set of Sachiko sines but it's arguably in the same ballpark, one long stretch of tubaic taffy. They then descend, spelunk into the depths of the horn, the dark booms augmented by soft breath sprays like decompressing oxygen tanks. There's water down there, cold. They emerge slightly, blink at the light and continue on, down an adjacent path, before encountering an obstacle, hesitating, sending out gentle feelers, stopping.

A fine recording, give a listen.

[Martin graciously provided me an image of the cover:]






Silencers - Balance des Blancs (Sofa Music)

I admit, glancing at the instrumental line-up, I was a bit fearful of a kind of free-jazz/eai balancing act, the sort of thing that leaves some amount of frustration one way or the other. Well, it is, kind of, but achieves, at least on occasion, a rather amazing amount of success. The quartet (Benoit Delbecq, prepared piano; Kim Myhr, guitar, resonant objects; Nils Ostendorf, trumpet; Toma Gouband, percussion) manage, at their best, to create a music that strikes me as similar to what Don Cherry's Eternal Rhythm band might have done if somehow transported intact to 2010. They manage to mix abstraction with implied melodic and rhythmic content in a way that's not disingenuous or cutesy, the prepared piano referencing, inevitably, gamelan but also mbira. If this occurred consistently, we'd have a truly stellar album, but the four also fall into some meandering ("En Turbulence"), not terribly but routine in aspect though that too picks up a head of steam midway through. I would have liked more focus but the group gels pretty well and creates an individual sound that's enticing. Curious to hear where they go from here.

Sofa Music

Apologies for the lack of posting...doing other things while on vacation and faced with a pile of stuff upon return, half of which I've yet to be able to give a first listen to....will be back sorta shortly...

Keith Rowe - Concentration of the Stare (bottrop-boy)

Spend any amount of time in the company of Keith Rowe and the names of certain painters will arise in conversation with some frequency. Caravaggio, Twombly and, among others, most definitely, Mark Rothko. Just as, long ago, he'd imagined what the guitars in Braque's cubist painting might actually sound like, so, I think, he did with Rothko, often referring to the way the "tinged" the space in which they were hung. For some time, in the early oughts, Rowe tried to place his music in a similar area, where it more tinged the aural scape rather than imposed itself on it ("Duos for Doris", with John Tilbury, might be one of the finer examples of this approach).

Needless to say, when he at last had the opportunity to actually perform in Rothko Chapel in Houston Texas in 2007, it was a weighty event for him. And, when in fact confronted with the fourteen extraordinary panels there, one gets the impression he felt the need to perhaps "balance" his sound with the artworks to a more forceful degree than he may have done in their absence. The 40 minute set, generally speaking, refers back two or three years to the rich, steady-state solo work from the first few years of the decade. More so than most recordings, a great deal is necessarily lost here--the pure physicality of Rowe in the midst of the Rothkos, communing with them, the immediate resonance an observer would doubtless register between sound and canvas; one simply must imagine the totality of the event. (I have to say that such imaginings aren't helped by the cover of this release, a flat, boring purple that has nothing to do with the rich violet-blacks of the paintings in the room.)

As is, it's a fine addition, the sound stream made of of rough, thorny elements spun together into strands that lessen the harshness--think burlap. As is always the case, it seems that there are four or five levels operating at any given moment and one's concentration easily hops from one to the other, never losing track of the whole. It builds to a mini-crescendo about 25 minutes in, then to a still more intense level five minutes later before subsiding back into the room. Those familiar with Rowe's work over the last 12 + years will recognize the territory covered, an expanse far more immediately accessible than, say, "The Room". Again, what's obviously missing is the presence of this room but it's not all that difficult to transport oneself there, making one's own connections between the clouds of electronics, filled with endless details and the infinitely deep spaces within the Rothkos.

Be a nice idea if the Chapel would install this as an occasional element perhaps....

A beautiful set and, of course, an obligatory get.

bottrop-boy

available from erstdist

***************

I'll be heading off the Block Island for two weeks tomorrow so, unless I decide to post something from there, see you in mid-August.

Ferran Fages - Pèl Nord (Bocian)

Robin Fox - More Impossible Futures (Bocian)

And still another pair of 7" vinyl releases from Bocian...

Fages eschews the uniquely gorgeous guitar sounds heard in recent albums and launches full bore into a piercing, whining squall conjured from "manipulated AM radios". "Pel" needles its way into ones ears before splaying out into subtly layered (but no less abrasive for that) slab of splintering harshness. It's monolithic in one sense but prismatic enough to invite, if one's ears can withstand it, deep consideration. "Nord" is rounder, more hollow but cuts a not dissimilar path, just a slightly more negotiable one. Unlike some qualms I've had with previous Bocian 7 inchers, the length (about 3-4 minutes each) works quite well here, cramming more than enough information into the short span, providing a large amount to chew on and tasty too. A fine addition to Fages' already impressive catalog.

Robin Fox spins his wax via synthesizers. On the title cut, he sets three or four differently lengthed and timbred patterns atop each other, each seesawing in varying tempi, each mutating as it goes, forming a quasi-regular iteration that leaves just enough space for an organic feel to manifest. "Drift Compression" ventures too far into loopy synth territory for my taste but it's all quite handsomely done. I'd have liked to hear the first piece evolve a bit more, curious to see where it would have gone.

Bocian

John Wall/Alex Rodgers - Work 2006-2011 (Entr'acte)

A fascinating release. A bit has been written on what a departure this is for Wall, but I'm not sure. I may have missed something along the way (I have five releases of his on Utterpsalm) but aside from the obvious prominence of Rodgers' voice, I hear it as a not too wayward extension of the previous works. Yes, it was constructed, laboriously one imagines though not so much as had been the case on earlier releases; built from improvisations but so had much of his music been before. It's pared down in terms of elements--just Wall and Rodgers--but much of his music had been as well, even if there were half a dozen contributors at a given moment; it tended to sound sparse and astringent.

Rodgers' texts are not at all improvised, though Wall seems to have taken liberties rearranging and editing them. From what I understand, the slight warping and other electronic effects imparted to his voice are of his own devising as well as having recorded into a cheap dictaphone, hence perhaps the up-closeness of his sound. Wall balances his own contributions equitably, Rodgers phasing in and out of a mix that's not all too unlike Wall's past work despite (one assumes) not be derived from the instrumental work of others and, as stated, having been improvised. It retains the silvery thinness heard before, a unique and beautiful sound-world; I've little doubt I would have recognized the music as Wall's in a blindfold test. I often visualize a think plate of copper or zinc, with various bumps, scratches and other "imperfections" arrayed across its softly gleaming surface. Rodgers, his words slurred, bitter and Beckettian adds just the right amount of soot...or suet. It really meshes perfectly, not foregrounded so much, more embedded.

While certainly episodic in construction (as can be seen here, the piece cleaves together seamlessly as a whole, a bleak cascade of shards and syllables, like little else you'll hear. An excellent recording.

Entr'acte

(Erstdist should be getting them in shortly)


ErikM/Norbert Moslang - Stodgy (Mikroton)

I like the title. :-) And the music, if not stodgy, does carry a whiff of nostalgia, evoking those halcyon days of the early oughts when the rambunctious noise of cracked electronics with at least an implied rhythmic base could be exciting. In fact, these pieces stem from 2002-05 and do reasonably capture the spirit of Voice Crack, ErikM, Jerome Noetinger, etc. from around that time, the hurly-burly of a certain kind of sound that was at once rough but kind of...globular, the really harsh edges having been eroded away somewhat, perhaps midway between the truly severe and the area that would soon be explored by Gunter Muller and often released by For 4 Ears. It's aggressive, full, more or less non-stop, one of the motives being to establish a thick wall of sonics, a dripping mass of electronica propelled along by, as stated above, some sort of throb or pulse. I recall thinking that, at its best, this branch of music was a kind of guilty pleasure, a big gob of taffy to ameliorate the leaner (in a purely volumetric sense) offerings available elsewhere. I can still reach that frame of mind, though I grant that it's tougher these days; I think I've been largely sated by these particular flavors. Still and all, a representative and good sample of ErikM's and Moslang's work, doubtless to be highly enjoyed by their fans.


WPB3 - A Floating World (Mikroton)

I rather enjoyed the previous disc from WPB3 I'd heard, on Herbal International. It struck me that, at times, they approached an AMM-like sound world and accomplished this better than most. This effort, recorded in November 2008, doesn't quite get there for me. Nusch Werchowska (piano, objects), Mathias Pontevia (horizontal drums--I still don't know what differentiates them--, percussion) and Heddy Boubaker (alto and bass saxophones) seem to clearly intend to exist in that world--though perhaps they're sick of hearing it--but it's a tough row(e) to hoe. The use of space or, too often, the occupation of space, feels uneasy to me, as does the teetering into (forgive the overuse of the term) efi-y way of playing, the jazzy references (for example, the Cecil-ish piano at the beginning of the second cut. Indeed, this may be one of those bands where I'd rather the wholeheartedly went the avant-jazz route. Boubaker has a good tone, especially on bass sax, Pontevia seems to be a fine drummer out of the Lovens tradition--when they go all out in that direction, as they do later on in that same track, they're fine. It's that middle ground that's uncomfortable and hesitant. Perhaps I'm being too picky. Listened to in a more relaxed frame of mind, "A Floating World" is fine, cohesive and varied. It's just those damned glimmers of something more that gnaw at me....

Mikroton

Patrick Farmer - Green rings around the eyes, this grass in vibrant motion. (nadukeenumono)

It's long been my belief that there are musicians who simply possess a high degree of musicality. Silly enough statement, I know. And even within that, of course, it's a musicality that happens to resonate with my ears, not necessarily yours, who bring to their work, however seemingly abstract, a logic or a poetic sense that matches, to some great extent, those found in my own synapses. I've always enjoyed Farmer's work, always found something of value, however obscure or slight were the elements that comprised it. I'd gotten used, in my limited exposure, to a reticent approach so this recording, a half-hour plus of rather violent pops and sputters interspersed with silences that seem to contain their own aggressiveness, while a significant departure from what I'd heard before, nonetheless has the same musicality (if you will) the same sense of rightness about it. Quantifying it is next to impossible and if I stand it, just for the sake of comparison, alongside of Rowe/Sachiko's 'contact', it's not to say it's at the same level--I don't think it is--but that it evinces a similar concern with the nexus of harsh sound and space, with not shying away from some tough problems of apparent discontinuity vs. the actual fluidity of the situation. To this listener, it works and works quite well; everything fits and, somehow, makes sense. A fine effort.

nadukeenumono

available from erstdist


Nicholas Szczepanik - Please Stop Loving Me (Streamline)

Coming from an utterly different direction but achieving a result that's just as excellent, is Szczepanik's intriguingly titled release. I've no idea as to the actual source(s) of the sounds, but the general result is a rich cream with an organ-y flavor, though one suspects there might be orchestral and choral elements, all combined and threshed via electronics. No matter, really. It's unavoidable to mention the Eno of "On Land" here (and even a taste of Brancan sonorities); there's a feel of some of the passages form that seminal work but much deeper and, if you will, more romantic. I use the term not only in deference to the disc's title but also in that I was reminded throughout of the work of Bernard Herrmann. While at one glance, it's drone-oriented and steady state, there's always numerous plies writhing beneath the surface and when they venture toward full audibility, they have something of that wrenching, almost melodramatic quality heard in Herrmann. This occurs most noticeably around 24 minutes (and it's stunningly gorgeous) in and you think, perhaps, the first portion was only a prelude, that there would be a shift, but not really. It just settles into an adjacent seethe. Unlike Farmer's, it's "easy" on the ears but there's just as much to explore, just as many surprises; you simply have to tilt your head differently. The lengthy diminuendo also has more going on "inside" it than might be apparent at first blush, more unsettling than you think. Very, very enjoyable.

I don't see it listed yet on the Streamline/Drag City page, but here's one place where you can learn more.


Adrian Dziewanski - Orbital Decay (Scrapyard Forest)

Not entirely dissimilar to Szczepanik's music, as it happens, Dziewanksi's work also resides in drone territory and one of its major strands is an organ-like hum, but there are both significant low pulses and, more prominently, a sparkling set of buzzes and trills atop, all forming a slow ebb and flow. It's fundamentally much more in the steady-state realm, though, essentially unchanging over its duration--the relationships between the sounds are altered, to be sure, but the basic character of the piece remains very much the same throughout, at least as far as I can hear. All well and good and it's a pleasant confluence of sounds but I wanted more--either a variation in structure that had more resonance or the integration of sonic elements with a somehow rougher character. OK, but needs more street.

scrapyard forest

Anne Guthrie - Perhaps a Favorable Organic Moment (Copy for Your Records)

Quite a wonderful very different kind of recording. Guthrie's taken a field recording concept and extended it into unexpected and moving areas. Several people have written on this release already, and written well, often noting how the album is quasi-symmetrically structured which, indeed, is interesting. The first two pieces are variations on Bach's "Cello Suite No. 2, Prelude" which Guthrie performs on her standard instrument of choice, the French horn. As Richard noted, it sounds as though she's playing for her own enjoyment in her studio, the window open allowing the sounds of the street to be clearly heard. The performance itself is rough, as though she's only begun to negotiate the undoubtedly difficult transferal from cello to horn. But one gets the sense that her ears were perhaps as much attuned to those exterior sounds as her horn and that the idea for the subsequent piece percolated at that time. In any case, that's the narrative I get as listener as in track two, the environmental sounds become wooly and richly blurred (offset with some metallic clinking), the horn compressed and kneaded into a sound reminiscent of a Terry Riley electronically enhanced soprano (though better). It's a wonderful piece, made even more so by the connection to its forebear.

The middle cut, "Times Center, NYC 2010" for quite a good portion of it's 9 minutes plus seems to be just that, the harshly limned sounds of people in a large interior space (one can almost see the fluorescent lighting). But there's a soft ringing thrum that subtly emerges every so often, casting a warm glow on matters. That glow morphs into a more insistent, higher pitched thrum, begins to establish a more equal footing with the screeching children and that odd, indecipherable vocal din you hear in such spaces; ultimately it's all you hear. In some ways, the piece is a variation on ideas found in Pisaro's "Transparent City" compositions, and a very lovely one.

The last two reverse, in a way, the approach of the initial pair, the first being a diffusion of the second. We hear what sounds like a treated recording of traffic whizzing by, possibly overhead (I was very much reminded of a favorite concert, Sean Meehan, Greg Kelley and Zach Wallace, playing very quietly beneath the FDR Drive overpass at 38th St. as cars roared above). It's a ghostly enough sound and when Guthrie enters, softly keening the Scottish ballad, "Annie Laurie", that spectral feeling is redoubled, like a spirit on the wind. As the piece enters its final minutes, the automotive volume is pushed, the machines achieving a sound like enormous hornets, the plaintive voice still peeking through--wonderful work. Guthrie then closes with a simple, but utterly beautiful, rendition of the song, sounding as though singing inside a park tunnel, the sounds of the city in the near distance.

An exceptional recording, one of my favorites of this year.


Richard Kamerman - I stayed in the apartment for thirty-two days without leaving (Copy for Your Records)

Kamerman's release, on the same label, is slightly different. 20 minutes of severe noise in two discreet streams, one a general rough burbling, like an extremely active lava cauldron, the other a series of kind of accelerative sounds, with a revving quality, short bursts that appear like accents in the boiling flow; at the conclusion these seem more like chainsaws than anything else. It's pretty incessant, save for brief gaps of digital silence scattered throughout. There's a sense of amorphousness about it, ameliorated somewhat by those revs and silences, but overall possessing a massive, slab-like aspect that, I think, would lend itself more to a live experience, at substantial volume, wherein the listener could bathe (or burn). On disc, at necessarily limited volume, it's fine but I have the feeling I'm missing something, probably including the vibrations that would potentially disrupt my bodily functions were I in the same room.

Copy for Your Records (from which I filched the skewed images above)

also available from erstdist

Pascal Battus - Simbol/l'Unique Trait d'Pinceau (Herbal International)

Pity the poor, abused cymbal! The immense range of sounds capable of being elicited from this amazing piece of metal via stroking, tapping and otherwise attacking it clearly continue to absorb the attention of many musicians. Sometimes this can result in deep, fascinating plies of noise, though often at the expense of other structural elements need to hold a give work together as a unit. It's a delicate balance.

Battus here offers two cds worth of cymbalic material, one suite of three parts ("Simbol") and one of five ("l'Unique Trait d'Pinceau"). The sounds on the former seem to be largely derived from the instrument being stroked in one manner or another but the salient point to these ears is the separation into striae of relatively pure pitches, very high to very low, the middle ground often occupied by coarser sounds. When everything gels, the results are rapturous as on the third section of "Simbol", titled, "Soil". I think having a strong low pitch is the key, anchoring the work deep in the ground, so to speak, enabling the higher, rougher pitches to be read as chaotic escaping gases (!), organic excreta unfurling out into the air. Really a wonderful track, one that manages to entirely avoid the sameness that many adventures in cymbaling encounter.

"l'Unique Trait d'Pinceau" dispenses with any vestige of drones, hurtling into a series of attacks wherein the overt nature of the cymbal is camouflaged within a mass of hisses, screeches, groans and flutters. [I'm informed by my esteemed colleague Dan Warburton that this second disc is likely not sourced from cymbal-sounds at all, a mistaken inference I drew from the liner notes, so disregard any cymbalic references herein] It's still a cymbal, of course, and one can, if so inclined, trace hesitant pathways back to that folded and flattened piece of metal but similar to how how might approach a post-Tetreault/Yoshihide recordless turntablist, better to just sit back and immerse oneself to the extent possible. Battus doesn't make this an easy venture either, the music both assaultive and irregular, an incessant stream of "difficult" noise, perhaps a bit non-reflective for me (he mentions in the notes that this section is more improvisational than the former, "often made at home in the heat of discovery") but generally holding interest. On the final cut, "Bouteille magnetique" (magnetic bottle), he produces a sound that seems for all the world to derive from guitar strings; how a bottle, magnetic or otherwise, in interaction with a cymbal created such tones is beyond me but the result is transfixing enough. Here's a kind of post-Bailey music that really works, perhaps in part due to its non-guitar nature? Lovely track, in any case and an album well worth your time.

herbal international


Sean Baxter - Metal/Flesh (Bocian)

Another solo percussion effort, out of Australia, here on Bocian's somewhat odd format of 7" vinyl, meaning we have about eight minutes of music. Sometimes this approach works, as with the recent Krakowiak release, sometimes it strikes me as excessively restrictive, which is the case here. Not that I'm sure I would have been entirely enamored of 20+ minutes of Baxter's drumming, but I do think it would have provided a fairer indication of his music. "Metal" has low-pitched drums probably covered with metallic objects, beaten irregularly but consistently, creating a fine melange of sound but feeling much like an excerpt, as though it should have been embedded in some larger conception. For fun, I also played it at 33rpm; the resultant pitch change was enticing. Wish I had a 16rpm option..."Flesh" is drums and cymbolics; again, it's perfectly fine if perhaps retro in a way, sounding like a portion of a good Andrew Cyrille solo. Can't complain about that as such, of course, but again would have liked to have heard this in a wider context. In sum, an enjoyable if frustrating release.

Bocian


Craig Hilton/Tomas Phillips - le goût de néant (Absinth)

In which Hilton creates an improvisation on guzheng and, with Phillips, subjects it to manipulation via laptops. Beginning with the guzheng allows for a lush richness, a very attractive bed in which to mess around and, indeed, the pair don't stray very far from its essential tonality even as the nature of the sonics varies quite a bit. Sometimes other sounds seem to intrude--the beginning of track three seems to includes pachinko parlors and piano samples, but who knows? It teeters on the edge of excessive spaciness to these ears but pretty much manages to fall on the right side of things. The final track of four, for instance, has an airy, cavernous quality that could veer more toward the Eno-esque, but it retains a certain bitterness, later infused with taps and scrapes, that keeps it in a grainier, more complex area. That said, I wouldn't have minded things being pushed much further in that direction but, as is, the disc is solid enough and could be an enticing listen for a relative newcomer to this end of the spectrum.

absinth (though I don't see this release listed there yet)

Mike Bullock - Mild Disappearances (Songs from Under the Floorboards)

As fine a bassist as he is, the few times I've heard Bullock dealing with electronics, I've also been very impressed. To some extent, he combines the two here though it's the electronics that are to the fore, though precisely what he's using is not listed and I'd be reluctant to even guess about it. Quasi-basslike sounds filter through the mix seeming to be possibly sourced from some unexpected meeting of bow and resonant wood but, again, who knows? Field recordings are present as well, birds and water sounds well represented. But the unexpected spine of the first track is a ping and descending glissando (again, the later possibly bass-derived?) that form a kind of melodic reference point around which the remainder of the sounds cluster and from which they disperse. It's a nice gambit and if it hangs around a minute or two longer than I might like, it's still refreshing enough to make the piece stand out and infuse it with an unusual richness. Though not nearly so overt, a subtle sense of tonality continues throughout the disc, even when it's fragmented into scattered clawings at the bass or fractured sine tones. Bullock keeps the mix deliciously viscous, balancing the shrill with the rumbling, evoking landscape while remaining abstract (I thought of Kiefer more than once). The last cut brings the bass more into play and is substantially sparser but still manages to retain the earlier depth, just pushing it into a different area, and a really interesting one, dark sounds existing in a large, even darker space. A fine recording--don't miss it.


Kiyoharu Kuwayama/Masayoshi Urabe - Heteroptics (Songs from Under the Floorboards)

A 2002 date with Kuwayama (cello, viola, percussiona) and Urabe (alto, percussion). For me, it lies on an uncomfortable divide wherein musicians are aware of and attempting to enter into the (then) newish territory of post-AMM improvisation but still retain a good bit of the emotional trappings of post-Ayler jazz. Urabe's playing, indeed, reminds me most of Joe McPhee with a similar balance of abstraction and a deep, almost spiritual color. Somehow, with McPhee I find that a more natural quality; with others, as well as it may be handled, there always seems to be something of a remove. Which isn't to say that the music here doesn't succeed on its own; it's pretty effective, the ghostly alto lamenting over parched string scrapings or the ghostly rattle of metal. There are moments of near-silence but, interestingly, even then, the sounds that appear carry some sentimental weight--curious how that happens. It's soon enough back to the haunted wailing though. There's a moment, some 38 minutes in, when one of the pair appears to toss a large metal pipe or two onto the hard floor with refreshingly raucous results--would that this abandon was followed throughout. As is, while not entirely up this listener's alley, I can easily see this being highly appreciated by, say, fans of Kaoru Abe.

Intransitive

Ben Owen - 05012009FP (cdr)

I love hearing field-recording based work that still manages to confound my expectations of the are. It's still fascinating to me why some work and others don't; wish I could pinpoint the whys and wherefores, but maybe not. Ben Owen's collection of four pieces begins with a set of sounds more complex than initially sensed: water, yes, some owl-like hoots (not sure of the source--perhaps the "two pipes" of the title), a pervasive, grainy hum, large but more distant thrums (boat engines?), the sound of heavy wooden furniture being pushed across a resistant floor--it's rich, mysterious and evocative and immediately plunges one into this presumably fictional construct. A very strong sense of place, even if it's difficult to discern the boundaries or to entirely plant one's feet on the ground. With the odd, somewhat violent interruption, the first piece establishes itself and then just sits there, breathing. Very lovely. The brief "walk wind rain", despite its title, is more truculent, the elements buffeting the mic. Again, it's quite rich, thick juicy sounds zooming through the frame, evaporating, replaced by rainwater gurgling through a gutter. Those burbles segue right into "ceiling mid level", where the dynamic level is reduced to a bit more than a simmer but, again, with periodic eruptions. That tension between agitated calm and outright violence explodes again on the final track, "in hull", the soft water drips dispersed by the odd, shuddering moan, as though the hull in question has run up against some unforgiving wood pilings. It's disquieting, uncomfortable.

A very fine recording, issued in an edition of only 50 so, hop to it.

ben owen


mpld - lacunae (winds measure)

"lacunae" is a DVD release by Gill Arno, operating under the nom, mpld, two tracks, a brief one under 5 minutes and one of 33 minutes duration. The opener establishes the mood and frame: black and white flicker images, initially much more dark than light, allowing the viewer only glimpses of what eventually coheres into a landscape, low-horizoned, with the square silhouette of a building on the left. The sounds are percolations, clicks and a thin whistling whine. As track two commences (seamlessly as far as the sound goes), the image shifts to a brighter, but still flickering one, again a landscape, sea in the foreground, the scene bisected vertically, on a slant, by an artifact of the camera, I think, a thick black wedge, sharp on the left side, blurred on the right. The flicker-image necessarily brought to mind the fine Richard Garet/Asher collaboration, "Melting Ground", though the visuals here are darker, "older" looking. As well, they're still images, though the flicker imparts an odd sense of motion and it takes some amount of discernment to realize that nothing is, in fact, moving. The motor of the boat from which this has been shot (? I presume) gains prominence as does the intensity of the flicker as more light enters the frame. The water journey continues, the scenes slowly changing, the gurgling of the propeller in water surging and subsiding, shifting pitch an timbre. Some 23 minutes in, the dark outline of a man is seen in a still shot, against a craggy shoreline; views of other passengers ensue. At about 28 minutes, there's a startling close-up of a washed-out facial image, mannequin-like, blank. During the waning moments, the soundtrack reduces to a soft burble while the visuals become gently abstract, fold into negatives.

"lacunae" is a haunting, lovely piece, adrift in memories and their sensual associations. Excellent work.


Andrew Hayleck - weekend (winds measure)

I was also sent this cassette by Andrew Hayleck but, as my only cassette deck sits in my car, I was forced to listen to it whilst traversing the wilds of New Jersey, not the ideal situation (auditorily or olfactorily). I can only say that it sounded pretty good, full of sounds that ranged from the urban street to insectile (it's compiled largely, if not entirely, from field recordings) and that both pieces, lasting about 13 and 11 minutes, flowed along very well, seemingly infested with detail, as near as I could determine amid the sounds of speeding vehicles.

winds measure

Christian Munthe/Lee Noyes - Onliners (*for*sake)

When last I wrote about Munthe's music, in May of 2010, I remarked how difficult this "area" of improvisation is for me to evaluate, nestling as it does (to my ears) in what I think of as the post-Bailey tradition, an approach that still strikes me as a particularly forbidding tract to cultivate. As I wrote then, Bailey's shadow is so long that it's impossible not to hear him lurking around.

Munthe, now as then, negotiates the territory ably enough and, in fairness, seems to consciously leave the Bailey-esque boundaries as often as possible, but it's still a hard music for me to settle into comfortably.

That caveat aside, the duo with percussionist Lee Noyes is nicely spiky, Munthe seemingly scraping at his strings as much as plucking them, Noyes responding in kind (dare I say "post-Lovens?"). There is that efi conversational aspect which, again, isn't quite my cup of tea but I can easily imagine this appealing to differently attuned listeners. Unsurprisingly, I most enjoy the tracks, like the second one here, where the duo migrates the furthest away from the field.


Christian Munthe/Christian Jormin - Sedimentology (*for*sake)

From the same year (2009), another duo with a percussionist. It begins promisingly (again, from my point of view), sounding far more like an extension of Partch than Bailey, with ringing, bent guitar notes and spare percussion. But they quickly fall back into a not dissimilar territory than was the case with the Noyes recording--agitated, occasionally frantic, percussive playing with little space. The remainder skirts the borders between the verbose and the slightly more considered, always sounding better the nearer it is to the latter. Munthe does have a good sense of space and elastic pacing when he allows himself to recede a bit. As I said the last time around, I'd like to hear more of this facet of his work.


Anders Lindsjo/Christian Munthe - The Ping of the Pong (*for*sake)

Here, Munthe teams with another guitarist, Anders Lindsjo but, aside from the exchange of sound sources, the overall feel of the session is akin to the earlier duos (this one is from 2010). Scrabbling, slithery, scratchy, sibilant, sliding, scurrying....sustained, maybe even incessant. I take it for granted, I suppose, that the constant activity is something valued by the musicians, a burbling stew that hopes to yield a frothy richness, but I can't help but want to hear more consideration, more attentiveness to the room they're in, not so much to each other. Again, that's my mishigas, not necessarily that of those directly involved and, as with the other discs, they perform what they choose to perform pretty well.


Christian Munthe/Christine Sehnaoui - Yardangs (Mandorla)

My limited knowledge of Sehnaoui's work had also led me to place her, more or less, in the Bailey/Parker lineage and "Yardangs" (a tip of the hat to whoever chose the title for alerting me to such a wonderful word) does little to dispel that notion. She's very good, quite adept in covering a huge range of sounds though almost all are clearly within the saxophonic tradition, even when dealing in breath tones and spittle. The same might be said of John Butcher but he, often enough, has a conception that removes his instrument from being squarely in that tradition whereas Sehnaoui extends the existing one. Again, to this listener, things work better the sparer it gets, less well when things become agitated.

Again, I don't mean at all to disparage Munthe's work, it simply exists in a space that I don't find so conducive, that's aurally aggressive in a manner that I find too much "in your face", leaving the audience fewer listening options than I like having. Fans of the efi/Emanem persuasion will doubtless find the goings-on here very much to their taste and, to the extent I can honestly hear the music as such, it does a fine job at elaborating on that tradition.

*for*sake

Mandorla

A few words on George Lewis.

Like many outside of Chicago, I first heard Lewis in the context of Anthony Braxton's "Creative Orchestra Music, 1976", particularly his solo feature on the infamous march piece. In the summer of '77, as I've written many a time, I first saw him live at the Tin Palace with an incredible Braxton quartet that otherwise included Muhal, Fred Hopkins and Steve McCall. Lewis, I guess 23 at the time, brought the house down on several occasions that day, once causing Brax to step to the side and deliver an exaggerated bow in his young trombonist's direction.

I don't have a distinct recollection of catching him around otherwise in those days though doubtless I'm forgetting some events (maybe with Anthony Davis?). I *do* remember him up at Environ, not a little pissed off at an interview with Albert Mangelsdorff that had been run somewhere, wherein the German had maintained that he was the only trombonist able to play overtones, Lewis wanting desperately to walk up to him, 'bone in hand, and proffer a rich, multi-layered blaat.




His first recording, from November 1976, is already remarkably self-assured and experimental, mightily impressive for a 23 year-old. The sidelong piece for three trombones is a fine mix of approaches, pointillistic alongside trad-referring chorales, bluesy wails amongst strangled squawks, etc., all cohering amazingly well, not sounding like a mere grab bag of effects, but as a considered walk through a catalog of available sounds and structures. Side two has three pieces more "in the tradition" and beautifully played, especially the closing "Lush Life", as pretty and imaginative a version as you're ever likely to hear.

I'm not precisely certain of the chronology of these four albums as the remaining three don't include recording dates, but they're all from 1977-79.

Lewis began using electronics (at least on record) around '77, a fairly unusual move (in the way he was using them) among AACM-affiliated musicians, presumably deriving from his knowledge of and working with people like Ashley and Behrman in conjunction with his increased activity at and eventual directing of The Kitchen. Ewart always struck me as an interesting player--often fantastic as part of an ensemble, a bit tending toward new-agey things on his own. Here, he's fine on flute, alto and bass clarinet, as well as percussion. There's a typically rambunctious first piece, well played but fairly standard for the time followed by a more fascinating piece, the pair dealing more in pure, extended tones, rubbing them up against each other. Lewis also contact mics his instrument. Lewis' "The Imaginary Suite", which takes up side two, is marvelous and a clear antecedent (if, in fact, it preceded!) the following recording; indeed, part two of this piece is virtually the same. Using low horns, percussion and a bed of electronics, Lewis fashions a music that was leagues away from what any of his AACM cohorts (with, perhaps, the partial exception of Anthony Davis) were doing while at the same time injecting enough grit and blues to easily distinguish it from the white, post-minimalist music of the period.

In years past, this was always on my Desert Island Discs list. Not certain if it would be today, but it's still damn great. Lewis, Davis, Ewart and Teitelbaum. Two sidelong tracks, the first, "Blues" a bit more raucous for a while before mellowing, the title track all rich, deep smoothness. For sheer sonic gorgeousity, this is tough to beat. But more, as said above, this simply not only stood out, but stood very much apart from the work of any jazz-based musician from the period that I can think of. The title track, following a wonderful, billowy beginning, settles into such a beautiful electronic bed, something that might be akin to the Eno of the period, but far deeper, from which Ewart's alto emerges like some wondrous fern, unfurling leisurely but inevitably, splintering, coalescing. And Lewis--well, there's no more beautiful trombone solo in jazz--if this is jazz--to my ears. Everything is in there. And, the piece just ceases with the trombone dangling out there. Soooo good. Hmmm, maybe still Desert Island....

It might just be that Lewis didn't release much more through the 80s, but this is the last recording of his I have on vinyl. On Lovely, no doubt having to do with his tenure as Director of the Kitchen. A quartet, as above with J.D. Parran replacing Davis. Very different from the Charles Parker disc, beginning with a swarm of percussion and double reeds (Ewart on musette, Parran on nagaswaram), an intriguing variation on minimalism. Low horns and electronics don't appear until about halfway through the first side, foghorn-like, buoys in the clatter. There's actually a brief snatch of what sounds like some very Rowe-ian guitar in there, presumably Teitelbaum-generated. It's a fascinating step, on the whole and, if I don't love it as much as the Parker homage, it indicated some intriguing branching out.

But...I'm not sure what happened. I think the next thing I have under his own name is the "Voyager" disc on Avant ("Changing with the Times", which I liked even less, was approximately co-synchronous--I see "Berlin Tango" listed at AMG, but I'm unfamiliar with that). Somewhere in those 10-15 years, his use of electronics had become, to my ears, overly academic and bland. Subsequent releases ("Shadowgraph" and others) didn't rectify the situation to these ears. I saw a performance of a work of his in Nancy in 2002, a quartet wielding light sabers that triggered sounds--not very good. (Although I relish the memory of hanging out in the wee hours at a table including George and Teitelbaum, the former proving to be a voluble storyteller and exceedingly friendly person). However, I did have the good fortune to witness a duo with the late Bill Dixon at Vision Fest in 2006 that was extraordinarily beautiful, thoughtful and sensitive. I've no doubt that I've missed things along the way from Lewis that I should have heard--I don't think I've encountered anything emerging from his professorship at Columbia, for instance. I was hoping for more from his book on the AACM as well.

Still, one of my favorite musicians, all things told, from this period and I'm extremely grateful for any number of musical memories, live and on record.

I've sort of gotten in the habit of posting any semi-decent watercolors or drawings on facebook and letting them just slide down the page, something I find rather attractive, truth to tell. But since I have a rare grace period here (no discs to write up!) and I don't feel like talking overmuch about the three Kronos vinyls I've played recently, I thought I'd post a couple of groups of paintings, and a drawing, that seemed to work out well enough.

Last year, I did a set of a dozen t-shirt paintings, four each in red, indigo and light grey, which I enjoyed a bunch and which yielded maybe six decent pieces. So I decided to do a few of black cloth and found the batting average to remain the same: two I like very much, two with some redeeming qualities but some awkwardnesses as well. It also allowed me to deal with the problem of Payne's Gray, a color that absolutely beguiles one while wet but tends to dry in a cakey fashion, much to the painter's chagrin. The first three dealt with that by layering on indigo (mixed here and there with other blues and red) in a kind of oil-painting manner, as glazes. On the last, by working wet into semi-wet, I somehow managed to avoid the harsh dryness--one shot, no return--very happy with that one, the fourth as well as the second.

In any case, in order:










Last month, our dear friend Carol gave us an old scoop of some kind--perhaps a flour scoop?--she'd found in a shop in France. It's a lovely object, old white enamel with wonderful rust stains, and I quickly set about getting it down on paper. First a fairly simply drawing:



Then a fairly simple, if ill-drawn watercolor:



For some reason, I had an urge to work at it in, more or less, a monotone of some kind, and to concentrate on just parts of it. I kind of like the way these turned out:





All for now, thanks for looking.

Paul Vogel - Godwit Songs (Munitions Family)

A cassette release (though I heard it on disc) of highly abstract electronics that bear, at best, only a passing resemblance to the song of the godwit--at least that's the assumption I'm making, though perhaps it's a singularly eai-oriented bird...In any case, it's very good: two tracks, the first being more aggressive and "noisy", beginning with some gentle, metallic pops before they're overwhelmed by harsh, contact-mic-ish scratches, severe whines and more. It never gets too dense--much more reminiscent of Sachiko M than most toiling in this area. Very solid, although things get more godwit-like on the second track, which I find all the more successful. It's really just as active but much quieter, yet within the compressed dynamic range, there's an enormous amount of space and differentiation; an entirely convincing sound-world is created, one that might well refer to the avian, amphibian and insectile life one observes with one's ear to the ground. Lovely.

Munitions Family


Michael Johnsen/Pascal Battus - Bitche Session (Organized Music from Thessaloniki)

Not bitching as such but, rather, recorded at a place called Bitch in Nantes, this is a cassette recording of pretty uncompromisingly harsh electronics (Johnsen-electronics, saw, Battus-magnetic pick-ups). Also a cassette release, also heard by yours truly on disc, also very noisy but there the comparison with the Vogel ends. It's very active, more percussive than you might guess given the instrumentation, full of squawks and screeches and, ultimately, unsatisfying to me. That blurry, subjective line between interesting and uninteresting noise gets crossed here, for me; I don't pick up as much consideration as I like--perhaps the pair is unconcerned with that or is choosing to operated in a more Mattin-oriented manner. Don't know, but as uncompromising as the music undoubtedly is, it also failed to grip me. Curious to figure out why the difference in personal appeal between this and Godwit Songs. Your mileage may vary.

Organized Music from Thessaloniki


Jonas Kocher - Solo (Insubordinations)

Solo accordion, that is, a form I'm admittedly partial to and Kocher, who I don't think I've previously heard (someone will prove me wrong, no doubt) [and, indeed, Richard, did--sorry about that] delivers admirably. What comes through more than anything else is a deep love of the instrument and the huge variety of sounds of which it's capable. A live set, Kocher is very patient, using a great deal of space, his choice of sounds running much of the gamut from virtually inaudible to full-throated squeeze-boxiana. The set sounds only loosely organized, as though Kocher is taking some delight in discovering the sounds as he happens on them, worrying less about the overall structure which nonetheless coalesces very nicely and naturally. There's an especially beautiful high drone portion about 20 minutes in that I could have happily listened to for a long time. Difficult to describe otherwise; not as extreme as Costa Monteiro on the same instrument but well to the left of Klucevsek et. al. A fine recording--don't let it slip under your radar.

Insubordinations


Kevin Drumm/Jérôme Noetinger/Robert Piotrowicz - Wrestling (Bocian)

One of two handsomely produced 45s issued by the Polish label Bocian, this one features two excerpts from a 2005 live show by what I guess one could call a power trio. Now, I'm not as big a fan of Drumm as many though I've no doubt this assemblage is quite capable of producing a healthy blast of noise, but they seem not so well served by these brief snippets. Artur Nowak, who recorded the event, mentioned how great the entire show was and it well may have been. Here, we get two parcels of ear-rending sound, mere peepholes into the concert. One can imagine its entirety, I suppose, and the samples are tasty morsels of the kind, but...I guess I have to question the strategy in such a release. It may have been a matter of this or nothing, though, and fans of the three musicians will doubtless consider it worth the expense. It does have its (short) moments.


Tomasz Krakowiak - AP (Bocian)

Krakowiak's 45 works far better with regard to this medium and, to these ears, is a stronger set of music. Two pieces lasting 4'59" with Krakowiak on cymbals and microphone. By description, it sounds like nothing unusual: one with stroking of the surface (with the mics? not sure), generating keening overtones and unaccompanied by low-end rumbling from some other source, the other a more delicate version of same, the deeper tones taking on a very poignant quality as though commenting on their higher-pitched neighbors. But the particulars of the pieces are somehow unique and very, very rich. I imagine there are countless rubbed or bowed metal recordings about--this is one of the better ones I've heard. Ok, I admit, I would have liked to have heard this music at greater length, but still.....

Bocian Records

Jürg Frey - "Metal, Stone, Skin, Foliage, Air" (l'Innomable)

It's been a good year, thus far, for great recordings. Rowe/Malfatti, two amazing Pisaros and now this one.

Frey's piece, superbly performed by Nick Hennies, dates from 1996-2001. I think this may generally be the case, although I don't know Frey's oeuvre intimately enough, but his work tends to be more overtly active than many other Wandelweiserians. "Metal, Stone, Skin, Foliage, Air" is set forth in clear, readily delineated sequences yet manages to breath in a very natural manner, not to come off as didactic in any way. As with other work I've heard from him, there's an undercurrent of narrative that's as beautiful as it is extremely subtle. As with much wonderful contemporary composed music (especially that emerging from the Wandelweiser group), while experiencing it, any lines between the written structure and the acoustic, physiological effects produced by the instrumentalist(s) performing it are blurred; it's very difficult (for me, anyway) to parse out both while listening, something I can only do in retrospect.

Depending how one wishes to break it down, MSSFA is in 9-11 sections. I take it they're precisely time, though the breaks seem to fall on 10-second marks rather than whole minutes. Given general Wandelweiser aesthetics, it's a bit of a shock when the piece begins in full force with a light, steady, medium tempo rhythm is heard on what sounds like a glockenspiel or celesta, though the wavering pitch has me wondering whether it might be a home-constructed metallophone of some kind. Immediately, one hears the dual nature of the music: the structure (here, at first, simply the rhythm) and the larger effects of the sound, in this case a wealth of gorgeous overtones. I'm not sure if there was overdubbing employed of if it's possible that overtones from a single source can result in the kind of scalar sequences one perceives here; whatever, the case, it quickly draws you into the world. At 7:20, we shift to a different set of metal, though still in the same family, with differing overtones. The rhythm remains the same, constant. This portion also lasts for 7:20, giving one the initial view that we'd encounter a series of these equally timed portions. Wrong.

At 14:40, a haze of cymbalry occurs, though again there are high, ringing overtones that sound as though they could be from other sources. In any case, the explicit rhythm has ceased but the continuation of a metal sound acts as a bridge. Mirroring the first two sections, though not strictly duplicating them, at 19:30 the palette shifts, remaining in the brushed metal area (tam-tam?) but lowering the overall pitch, shifting the overtones. So, we've had four sections and, again, have a limited view of the overall structure, a view that once more is subverted when, at 24:20, the stones are introduced, maintaining the non-explicit rhythm (though there's something of a pattern in the sense of iterated circular movement as they're rubbed on what seems to be a metallic surface, perhaps a bowl. I should say, I think these are stones. So, in this transition, Frey has kept the general attack, changed the source.

At 29:10, there's the clearest break in the composition, what turns out to be the conclusion of the first half of the work. A light, tapping rhythm, more rapid than at the piece's beginning, is heard on a snare drum and it's metal side (again, guessing). It alternates in steady beats of 20/16 for a while, before morphing into 8s and 12s. Sonically simpler than the previously heard sounds, it's something of a palate cleanser, refocusing us on rhythm (in a fascinating way) while still holding on to vestiges of overtones in the delightful apposition and eventual mix of these two "dry" sounds. This is followed, at 34:10, by what I hear as a kind of fulcrum upon which the piece swivels, again branching out into unexpected (but right-feeling) directions, a rich, wonderful bass drum section, very low and resonant, the initial touch all but unheard, the rhythm found in the throbs.

The second half of MSSFA is even richer, phenomenologically more awe-inspiring than the first. Not to belabor the reader more than I've already done with all this descriptiveness, but for the final four sections, Frey introduces air (recordings of wind sounds? again, it's mysterious) and foliage and also, I think, combines them with previous sources, resulting in some terrifically complex sets of sounds; that is, complex when concentrated on but fairly simple in outline. Again, that dichotomy is utterly delicious as one mentally flits back and forth between appreciating the overall structure, the various substructures, the pure beauty of the sounds, their poetic distribution, the varied durations and rhythms--all of these elements combined in an unfussy manner so that one may either appreciate the whole or the parts, ideally not bothering to distinguish between them, just experiencing the work. I'll just add that the concluding section possesses an otherworldly beauty that's exceedingly rare.

A great, great recording. Thanks to Frey and Hennies.

Listen.

l'Innomable

available from erstdist

Writer/musician/DJ/other-stuffer Kurt Gottschalk recently published a collection of short stories, "Little Apples", an often subtly interlocking set of brief, NYC-based pieces. They're quite good. He asked seventeen artists for images of apples, one of which precedes each story. One of those is by yours truly.

The stories are funny, quirky, sad, resonant. Read it.


Here's the book's facebook page

You can order/download it at lulu