Yann Leguay - Quasi Static Crack Propagation (Consumer Waster)

OK, pretty excellent title...lovely cover and interior illustrations as well. My first exposure, I think, to Leguay who, per the label press release, seems to operate on the conceptual edge of noise, perpetrating art along the lines of destroying a microphone, etc. Here, the sound sources are electronic playback machines of various kinds (the track titles equalling their model numbers), specifically the interior noises they produce while in operation, a not-unknown tack investigated (among others) by Keith Rowe when he finally added a mac to his table but, instead of using programs, close mic'd the machine's body finding the sounds produced within more interesting than those produced by software.

And...it's pretty damn good! A Sony Walkman (D-NE1) provides the material for three pieces, much less harsh than I might have expected, a resonant hum of two deep pitches interfered with by short static bursts which occasionally cascade into a bit of a flurry. It's blunt, very matter of fact, but handled by Leguay in a manner that straddles that awkward.graceful line, something I quite enjoy. It's second appearance, far more brief, finds a different range of sound, lighter and wispy alongside several strands of rumbling static and some loopiness. More active, lending a cartoon-like quality to the affair, doubtless unintentional. Its last entry is more varied and expansive, with flutter that softly undergirds rising and falling gentle whines and the requisite squelches and knocks; quite attractive! The Tascam CD-601 is plundered once, yielding a steady percolation of metallic and plastic clicks over a faint but fascinating background hum while the same company's DAP1 DAT recorder offers a grainier substrate, more dangerous sounding, the voltage seeming all but uncontrollable; both are very fine. Back to Sony for exploitation of its TCM-5000EV tape recorder, wherein we hear the most repetitive sounds, a layering of them, somehow subtly gaining momentum, some stationary, dropping out, reappearing in altered guise. Of the product-named tracks, all of them good, this is my favorite, a fantastic, alien mini-landscape.

The disc closes with a 14-minute live work, again an excellent chunk of music, ranging from initial quasi-syncopation (just the slightest hint of funkiness), ultimately finding drone territory, but a singularly rich one, with a low, scaly throb slowly cycling beneath a pebbly, iterating coating. He then just turns of the off switch and matters quickly and rudely dwindle to nil.

Fine stuff, another wonderful release from Consumer Waste. Hear it.

Consumer Waste

VipCancro - Gamma (Lisca Records)

A vinyl release by the Italian quartet of Filippo Ciavoli Cortelli (percussion, tapes), Alberto Picchi (electronics), Andrea Borghi (bass) and Nicola Quiriconi (voice) containing seven shortish tracks that might be classified as spooky, industrial drones. "Drones" for the obvious reason that the tones are largely extended throughout the length of the given piece, "industrial" in that there's an attractive layer of grime over everything, a dark, oily, gritty sheen and "spooky" because, well, the combination of elements tends toward the harrowing, easily allowing the listener to picture him/herself in a large, shadowy, possibly vacant and threatening space. Sometimes, as toward the middle of "Molize", super-slow, rocklike death chords come a-crashing but mostly the sounds slowly ooze by in an airborne miasma, probably not safe to breathe. Though a vocalist is credited, his contributions are, to me, indistinguishable from the other instruments, probably a good thing in this context. It not my favorite sort of approach and it's a bit too much the same over its course, but if the dimmer realms of isolationism are your thing, you'll find a nice, gloomy swamp here in which to bathe.

Lisca Records

Robert Piotrowicz - Lincoln Sea (Musica Genera)

When last heard from, Piotrowicz had taken a (to me) surprising and divergent pathway with his "When Snakeboy Is Dying", its lovely arrangement of piano, guitar and vibes very different from the heavier electronic work I'd previously known. On "Lincoln Sea" (like the previous release, issued on LP), he again switches course. The sound source is entirely (I think) electronic, though subtle allusions are made to orchestral forces. My immediate impression, though, was of an affinity to Partch's chromelodeon, a similar reed organ feel in something approximating just intonation. It's very, very thick; one senses strand upon strand, ply upon ply. There's likely much going on that's beyond the ability of my speakers to comprehend, though things clarify a bit at higher volumes.

The structure of the first track (Lincoln Sea is one piece, split between two LP sides; I reviewed from a CD rip) is amorphous, sinuous, the largely mid-level lines writhing through the space, the growling bass notes pummeling from beneath. Mark Harwood, in his accompanying notes writes of an architectural construct and you can easily imagine this piece in a large, interior environment. Sounds split off, creating several momentarily separate lines, wind back and form new interactions. There are stoppages, pauses, shifts of direction. Sometimes I found myself thinking of Branca with a more subtle sense of composition. That connection is reinforced toward the end of the first piece as heavy, end-of-the-world rockish chords are dropped, though with welcome irregularity. The second side begins less assuredly (in a good way)--similar sound but arrayed intermittently instead of steadily streamed--it's not just the buzzing, but you get a feeling of swarm, of mass clouds of insects. Big ones. It's more diffuse and less chromelodic-sounding at the start. For all the surface appeal of the electronic sounds (which appeal is high), it's rather difficult music to grasp, resisting easy compartmentalization.Once more, in the final few minutes, Piotrowicz introduces chordal punctuation but they're wheezing a bit now, tired, deflating, more Partchian. The hints of triumphalism that gilded the first piece have dissolved.

As said, hearing this in situ would be ideal as I imagine a large part of its effect resides in the physicality of the sound. Listened to more linearly, one can quibble with its structure, feeling things go on a little lengthily here, maybe too short there. But it's engaging throughout, a refreshing change from many drone-based recordings, which genre is certainly nodded to. Piotrowicz (who, amusingly, is referred to by Harwood as "despot composer"), has opened an interesting doorway, folding several disparate elements into a sometimes confounding but always plastic whole. Good work and, better, implying more exploration to come.

Musica Genera

Alvin Fielder/David Dove/Jason Jackson/Damon Smith - From to From (Balance Point Acoustics)

Readers know my problematic relationship with jazz post-1980 or so, especially that branch which styles itself as "free" but to my ears is often anything but, rarely recapturing the excitement, visceral and intellectual, of the AACM in its prime, Taylor, what-have-you. I understand exceptions will always exist and while I operate under the assumption that, all things considered, it's not worth wading through that particular morass on the off-chance of locating a jewel, things wend their way to me and I'm usually more than willing to give a fair listen. Sometimes you get lucky.

Though I've only encountered his post-60s work sporadically, I've always enjoyed Alvin Fielder. Fielder strikes me as the spine of this quartet (with David Dove on trombone, Jason Jackson on alto, tenor and baritone and Damon Smith on double bass). 77 years old at the time of the recoding, his work throughout is consistently alove and inventive,, "free" in non-obvious ways, nothing routine. His sensibility often recalls Blackwell, always a great thing for this listener. The music itself ahres much of this conception as well; themes arise, though they tend to do so subtly, but usually dissipate into group playing. There are solos, more or less, but you never get the sense of the kind of stagnant theme/solos/theme structure that I've heard all too often in much purportedly free music of the last couple of decades. Jackson will begin playing only to find, less than a minute later, that Dove enters in. As well, Fielder and Smith don't engage in "support"--that age old idea of Ornette's that rarely receives more than lip service, where the rhythm section is on equal footing with the horns, is always the case here. Again though, for me, it's Fielder who keeps things moving, who stirs the kettle so that nothing stick to the bottom. Jackson, apparently a fairly young player, wears his influences openly on the one hand (I hear Shepp and McPhee among others) but also has his own sound, a wide, roaring one, like a more soulful Gustafsson. I don't recall if I've ever heard Dove's trombone work before (I know of him more as a music organizer); Rudd is clearly in his sound but he also creates his own world and has a good knack for note distribution. This is busy music, no doubt, but manages to remain very fluid (Fielder again), never really treading water. There are moment, like midway through the title track, where I'm reminded of an old favorite band, the mid-70s Shepp group with Charles Majid Greenlee, Cameron Brown and Beaver Harris (where's Burrell?). I don't mean that as a backhanded compliment--I think generating that level of music in 2013 is no mean feat.

A solid, all around vigorous and enjoyable recording.

Fred Van Hove/Damon Smith/Peter Jacquemyn - Burns Longer (Balance Point Acoustics)

Van Hove is another old master (about 71 at the tome of this live 2008 recording) with whom I have only partial familiarity. The early FMP sides, sure, and I had a relatively hard to find (in the US) Musica Libera Belgicae LP that dated from the mid 70s, iirc. There may have been more hearings, not sure. In any case, here, on both piano and accordion, he's joined by bassists Smith and Jacquemyn, the latter also new to me.

The music on this date is more along the lines of that which no longer interests me. Van Hove, on piano, is certainly able but I both don't hear very much to separate him out from any number of free pianists (particularly Europeans, that gargantuan debt to Cecil still weighing heavily) and, moreover, it sounds fairly indistinguishable in essence from much quasi-similar work over the past four or more decades. It's very well played, don't get me wrong, but imparts a bit of "going through the motions", something that the prior recording somehow lacked. On the first of three tracks, the trio create a non-stop torrent for 28 minutes, the bassists bowing aggressively, filling the space and producing (in me) the claustrophobic feeling I get from much similar music; what many find "ecstatic", I find cloying and self-involved. The ten minute second track is only slightly less dense but again, I get that old sense, a la Malfatti, that one isn't any longer permitted to "not play". When Van Hove whips out the trusty squeezebox for the first few minutes of the lengthy final piece, things are mitigated somewhat, the relatively long wheezes coming as a relief, perhaps inducing the bassists toward less freneticism as well. It's my favorite cut here but still, the de rigueur relentlessness that eventuates becomes tiring. I always pick up a closing of doors rather than an opening. Of course, your mileage may vary but I find it instructive, if difficult to quantify, that I really don't pick up more than a trace of the same in the Fielder session, one that strikes me as far more "free" in a fundamental sense. I should mention that these are digital-only releases and I've been listening over my Macbook which, while not too bad, surely negates some of the richer sonics (especially, I'm guessing, that from the basses)[correction: "From to From is also available on CD]. Still, it's the structure that seems important to me and while I hear most of the first as flexible and, for lack of a better phrase, aware of the outside world, the Belgian recording hits me as overly hermetic. FMP nostalgists will doubtless disagree. See for yourself.

Balance Point Acoustics

d'incise - (aral) (Mystery Sea)

It's always tough (for me) to write about this area, what maybe you'd call the dark ambient side of field recording, apart from merely being descriptive of the sounds. d'incise does what he does very well, molding and weaving lines of sonics into a good, palpable mass, always heeding textural play, with various soft, low thrums wandering among patches of crystalline static, for example. Given a strong enough ear on the part of the creator, that is to say an ear more or less on my wavelength (!), it might be tough to go wrong. If I have reservations about it, it's along the same line as I have about graphics or photo enhancement programs: the results are appealing butI'm wary at the ease by which they're achieved. Dunno, maybe Protestant work ethic kicking in. Given all that, this works very well, the throb providing a subtle forward thrust for the first 15 minutes before giving way to a clear organ-like tone that levels matters, splays things out a bit under the windy swooshes--nice combination of vacancy and clarity. That works into my favorite portion of the disc, that staticky sounds acquiring welcoming irregularity of occurrence, sounding more "natural" (i.e., as though recorded from broken circuitry), the organ thinning out and ultimately disappearing into a haze. A bit further in, there's the slight surprise of a lovely piano chord that tolls away beneath the scrim, then some attractive clatter in the mid-distance and what sound like small tapping machines, which come into wonderful focus at the very end of the piece, when all the bass hums suddenly disappear.

Admittedly, this kind of music tends, after a while, to blend together in my memory--it's hard to isolate--but for listeners into the genre (whatever it might be called) will find much to enjoy here.


Mystery Sea

Tom Johnson/Samuel Vriezen - The Chord Catalog-Within Fourths/Within Fifths (Edition Wandelweiser)

When I first began reading the Village Voice, around 1972, Tom Johnson was its new music critic. By and large, the music he wrote about was entirely unfamiliar to me; I learned a good bit and, I'm pretty sure, missed a huge amount more, not having any kind of point of reference at the time. I think I came across his writing here and there in the ensuing years but I'm pretty sure I never heard any of his own music until picking up "An Hour for Piano" on Lovely Music Ltd., in all likelihood because the pianist was Frederic Rzewski. I loved it. I'm not sure if it's because there was nothing else around from him (though, checking, I see that India Navigation released his "Nine Bells", which I don't think I've ever heard) but my next encounter was either with his entirely wonderful work, "Failing: A Very Difficult Piece for Solo String Bass" (Robert Black, on a Bang on the Can recording) or the "Rational Melodies" album on hatART (Eberhard Blum on flute), which I also loved. At this point, I began keeping an eye out for his work and, as I recall, the next thing I saw was his "The Chord Catalog" on XI, which I eagerly procured.

Well. Let me back up a bit. Johnson, to his credit, will say that he's less a composer than a list-maker, creating expositions, not compositions. He locates patterns that he finds fascinating for one reason or another, often for mathematical reasons or representative of tiling functions, etc., and seeks to create an aural image of them. Personally, I'm very partial to this kind of approach though, of course, there's the danger of a work becoming more science experiment than aesthesia, e.g. some of Alvin Lucier's compositions. "The Chord Catalog" is simply that: all the chords possible to play in a single octave, all 8,178 off them, played in order, from the 78 two-note chords to the one 13-note chord. Even so stated, I'm intrigued. But the reality, played by Johnson was...well, "opaque" would be an understatement. I tried. I really, really tried. But I simply couldn't find way in. Played without affect (appropriately), there was nothing for me to grasp onto. It was both dry and pugnacious and even though I figured it was me who was somehow missing something, I gave up. Humorously enough, a couple of years later my friend Walter Horn visited NYC from Boston. He handed me a copy of the same disc, saying that he couldn't stand it but thought I might like it!

So it went. Come the Net, I'd trawl around YouTube, occasionally checking to see what there might be from Johnson, finding the odd lovely work. Earlier this year, I found an extract of a performance of this beast, by Samuel Vriezen, a pianist and composer who I knew slightly from his work with Wandelweiser-related musicians. It was captivating. By simply (not so simple, I'm sure) taking the piece at a much faster clip (faster than Johnson's pianistic skills allowed him to do), it undergoes a substantial transformation wherein all sorts of patterns emerge. It's still something of a monolith, no doubt, but it's now an approachable one. Vriezen's note-rate seems to fluctuate between about 1 and 4 per second (very roughly), faster on the less voluminous chords, slower on the crowded ones. [edit. received a note from Vriezen correcting my perception of note rate: the tempo I used in the recording moves from quarter=138 down to 36 with a chord per sixteenth. So it goes from 9 or so chords per second to just over 2, rather than from 4 to 1.] I can only imagine how difficult this is to play, to be so precise, to maintain an exceptionally steady pace and dynamic level, but Vriezen copes magnificently. You hear all the threads, the rising scales within dense clusters, the shifts; there's actually drama imparted, though I think Johnson might scoff at such a notion. The just slightly off-center pyramidal structure--the first and 10th parts each contain 78 chords, first of two notes, latterly of eleven--is also somehow poignant and moving, the penultimate section with 13 twelve-note chords wistfully and ineluctably leading to the final, single example, all thirteen notes.

As if this unexpected pleasure weren't enough, we're also treated to Vriezen's own beautiful composition, "Within Fourths/Within Fifths", inspired by Johnson's body of work. A description of the piece as well as its score can be found here. While it shares a very similar mode of construction as "The Chord Catalog", both in its compilation of possible note configurations within a narrow field and the resultant quasi-logarithmic increase in products (here without the "decrease" on the other side, so no pyramidal form on the whole, though that form exists within each of the ten sections), by choosing such consonant chords and sustaining the notes on each, Vriezen immediately places the listener in a far more overtly gorgeous realm, one where it's easy to overlook any "catalog" aspect. The pace is slower (though consistent), about a chord per second, allowing these jewels to suspend for a tantalizing moment before disappearing. The effect is not dissimilar to Satie's music from the Rosicrucian period, works like the Ogives, with the same feeling of a processional in a Gothic church. It's hard to hear the progressions as non-intuitive, which is a wonderful illusion. Simply gorgeous sounds.

A great accomplishment on the art of both Johnson and Vriezen.

wandelweiser

Nick Hennies - Duets for Solo Snare Drum (Weighter Recordings)

The "duets" on this fine and self-contradictorally titled release being, I take it, with silence (Cage's "One4"), noise (Peter Ablinger's "Kleine Trommel und UKW-Rauschen ('Concerto') and strings (Hennies' own, very spectacular, ("Cast and Work").

The description of "One4", written in 1990 for percussionist Fritz Hauser, is (from wiki), "6 time brackets for the left hand and 8 for the right. Each contains a numeral on a stave, referring to an instrument — the piece is to be performed on "cymbals and/or drums chosen by the drummer." Cage adds that the sounds produced should be either very long or very short." Hennies' rendition, covering seven minutes, is crisp and perfectly paced, using ample silence and mens of attack. Save for a tiny burst about halfway through (a welcome accent), the work is very restrained, almost proper, but carrying a good, steely determination, without the looseness (good or bad) you often hear in interpretations of the late number pieces. Hennies is a big fan of Alvin Lucier and this has something of what one might have expected had Lucier been the performer. Really strong.

I'd never heard of Peter Ablinger and one of the side-befits of this recording has been to correct that oversight. As near as I can determine, a "UKW-Rauschen" is an electronic device of some sort, not a terribly modern one. It explodes in a wall of dense static right from the beginning, overlapping off and on with rolls from the snare. Each instrument seems to have its own time blocks, roughly equal in duration but irregularly spaced, allowing for moments when both are present, one or the other and silence. It's a brutalist piece, no nonsense and, again, very strong and of perfect length at 5 1/2 minutes.

As excellent as those two compositions are, "Cast and Work" steals the show. A 23-minute piece in three sections, based on clock time. The first 15 minutes is Hennies using (I think) padded mallets on a snareless snare playing a steady not-quite-roll (I could be wrong, not knowing drum technique a whit--it sounds a bit slower than a roll to me). It's unvarying and monolithic in a sense, but it's the kind of pattern that, due to human limits and the essential sonorities of the drum tones, contains an absolute wealth of variation. Listened to attentively, you hear a whole range of tones, cross-rhythms and more. The drum is resonant within a tightly constricted space but within that volume, worlds exist. I could have listened to just that for hours. You even get the impression of tonal shifts, though I'm guessing that's more in my ears than the recording; perhaps there are more subtle aspects to the score involving moving closer to the rim or center of the drum at given intervals. At the 15-minute mark, all hell breaks loose as the paired cellos and single viola (again, guessing) of Henna Chou, Brent Fariss and Vanessa Rossetto hurtle to the forefront, sawing away with controlled abandon. It's entirely unexpected and perfectly apropos, a welcome tonic. Crucially, it forms its own block, lasting precisely five minutes, the snare beneath never having ceased and then returning, though bearing the subtlest of adornments, a sine tone (or similar) all but masked by the mallets, which are otherwise continuing as before. In the last minute of this three-minute section, you begin to become aware of a slight quavering sound which is revealed at 22:30 when the drums cease and the tone shimmers on its own for the final 30 seconds. A great work, one of the best things I've heard this year.

No excuses, get this.

Weighter Recordings

Lawrence English - Suikinkutsu no Katawara Ni (winds measure)

A suikinkutsu is an inverted, buried pot, usually ceramic, into which water is dripped through a small hole, the resultant tones having an aspect somewhere between a bell and a koto. English (whose work I haven't heard in quite a while, a condition I'm happy to have remedied) made these recordings between 2003 and 2011, I take it at various locations in Japan and Australia. The nine pieces are "unprocessed" field recordings which means that apart from the utterly beautiful sounds from the suikinkutsus themselves, you hear the general ambience as well, which might be birds and wind on one track, motor vehicles on another. This strikes me as crucial, to embed the resonant pings and drips into their environment, though with substantial separation, very much as though you were sitting or lying next to the suikinkutsu, the other sounds at some distance overhead or some paces away. I have to say, I could listen to work like this for hours. The drops consistently skirt that delicious line between regularity and randomness, the sounds themselves varying within seemingly narrow parameters that are anything but. Peaceful, yes, not absolutely unhazy--sharp, clear and calm. Listeners who don't know English's work but enjoy, say, Jeph Jerman, would do well do pick this up. Anyone should, really. It's a wonderful, special recording.

Lawrence English - Studies for Stradbroke (winds measure/Room40)

A set of hydrophonic recordings made in 2007 on Stradbroke Island off of Brisbane (I take it this is a re-release of some kind). Interesting to listen to after the above album. It, obviously, doesn't have the same concision with regard to sound source, yet there are almost necessarily certain parallel references in the musical dripping of water. One's aural footing is less certain, but the sounds are no less enthralling. They're often mysterious but, as with the suikinkutsu recordings, crystal clear, imparting thereby a more dreamlike character. One tries to map the low rumblings and bumpings of the second track to its title, "reeds of brown lake", and by doing so miniaturizes oneself to water strider size sounds so described might be perceived as such. There's also that fascinating point where hyper-detailed recording of water begins to sound like fire crackling, as on "rock walls" here. I might prefer the prior release, if only because of my deep affinity with the basic sound, but this one is marvelous as well, a fine example of specificity in field recording and testament to English's ear.

Akio Suzuki/Lawrence English - Boombana Echoes (winds measure)

Another older session, this one a 20-minute mini-cd from 2005, but without the staying power of the previous two, at least to these ears. Suzuki uses his self-created analapos (for a brief demonstration of which, see here) and English (field recordings, drum, electronics) seems to tailor his sounds to mesh with that instruments echoey qualities. It sounds as though a voice is used periodically here, perhaps funneled through the analapos? The effect is something akin to Jon Hassell's trumpet work from a few decades back, though the context is looser here, no rhythms to bear it along. Still, that's better than the hollow vocals, presumably Suzuki, on "manorina melanophrys", where what sees as though intended as childlike, sing-song innocence falls flat. The washes of echo over everything blur matters past the interest stage for me. (Beautiful packaging, though, and three nice drawings by Suzuki are included).

So, the collaboration isn't my cuppa, but you've no excuse not to hear the other two--fine, fine material.

winds measure

Room40

David Papapostolou - Contrastes (Dispositifs d'écoute/C'est moi qui souligne) (winds measure)

A very intriguing, pared down, almost brutalist, in a way, offering. "Contrast" indeed is the order of the day. The disc is divided into three tracks, all clocking in at 13:39, but that division seems arbitrary enough. The elements are clear: sine tones of a relatively forceful character; a field recording that seems semi-urban, some old-sounding metallic mechanism, hard to say, along with birds and automotive engines in the distance; and silence. The audible parts are presented sometimes separately, sometimes overlapping, the silences occurring at unpredictable points, occasionally lengthy. That's all. But it's plenty. This approach appeals to me very much, taking a handful of elements, allowing a small of amount of variation (in two of them here: the field recording varies as one would expect in a natural environment while the sine changes amplitude and pitch) and arraying them, either using a system to do so, one's poetic sensibility or using some kind of randomizing process. The result here implies the latter to me, though I could be wrong. I enjoy the inherent qualities of the recording, its own mixture of sounds wherein metal bangs, some vague sense of liquid, ambient hum, birds and motors coexist in a sonic web that would be a delight to experience on its own. The sines are more intense than one normally encounters, once or twice branching into pairs, not sliding through the natural sounds, a la "Transparent City" but overlaid like thin bands of brilliant color. Within this the blocks of silence are quite visceral and solid, cutting the noise abruptly and completely, acquiring a kind of shape on their own. As said above, this seems on the verge of brutal, something of a velvet hammer attack. Excellent work.

Scott Allison/Ben Owen - untitled (for Agnes Martin) (senufo edition/winds measure)

Two of the five tracks here were released on a 7" in 2008; I take it the other three date from the same period. The music is a combination of field recordings and electronics, the former of an urban nature, the latter a bit more overt--quick spurts of static or keening shards--than one associates with Owen (if he's the source). Perhaps it's the citation of Martin, whose gray wash works are special favorites of mind, but on pieces like the first, I pick up a hazy, muted overcast feeling here, low cloud cover hovering over an industrial setting. Wonderful, soft metallic tapping toward the end here. While this general character is maintained, one has the impression of moving around into different areas of the environment, so that the third track, for example, places one in room of hums of varying pitches though again you (at least I) have a sense of being in a space where the sounds are enveloping, not just issuing from an isolated source. The fourth maybe venture inside one of those machines, with up-close clatter and a claustrophobic, pervasive hum. A huge slab o'hum is served up on the final cut, almost obliterating all in its path, save for a continuous ratcheting kind of sound. But then there's a delightful sprinkling of voices, from a distance, a really nice bit of spice, before the sounds begin to fade, then abruptly cease. Very satisfying.

winds measure

Rishin Singh - Three Weevils (Avant Whatever)

A well-structured, tight and fine recording from Singh. I believe this is my first exposure to his work and I don't know much of anything about him--I'll just guess he knows his Malfatti. He deploys his trombone in a related manner, unfurling long, steady tones, though somewhat more forcefully than the wily Austrian. Here, two briefer, more (relatively) rambunctious pieces bracket a longer one, though all have the same basic attack: the horn played amidst environmental recordings. "Ablute", a verb meaning "to wash", contains low, pure tones against a dark, hollow-sounding field, like a very large, vibrating tube. It's quite dramatic in and of itself and opens into the 20-minute "Vinyl" which, true to its title, consists simply and very attractively of a soft vinyl rotation, nothing you haven't, more or less, heard before yet still very inviting in its plainness. Atop this, Singh, every so often, offers a quiet tone. His attack is less subtle than Mallfatti's, more abrupt, but at the same time perhaps less self-conscious, more matter of fact. He's very unobtrusive, often leaving several minutes of needle between wafts of tromboneliness. I like it a lot. Finally, Kambah (I take it the sounds were recorded in the Canberra suburb of the same name) offers a dense, channeled/chaotic flow of urban sound, probably w th some horn nestled in there somewhere, though I'll be damned if I can tease it out. On the label site, Singh refers to himself as "soluble"--very nice.

A good, tough, no-nonsense work. Check it out.

Avant Whatever

Olivier Dumont/Rudolphe Loubatière - Mouture (Observatory)

Two tracks from Dumont (guitar, objects) and Loubatière (snare drum). Can't swing a dead cat without hitting objects and snare drums these days. I'm pretty sure the first time I saw a snare used by itself (aside from some wonderful Max Roach moments) was at the hands of the great Sean Meehan, in duo with Toshi Nakamura at ABCNoRio. It certainly spoiled me. There's no reason, of course, to only use it in a quiet manner but, to my ears, it lends itself so well to that approach, has so much to offer therein, that when attacked more aggressively, I can be, perhaps unfairly, put off somewhat. "Side A" (so titled though there's no LP or cassette release of which I'm aware) begins in semi-AMMish territory with low rattle 'n' hum but soon Loubatière takes bow to snare and that sets the eventual tone. There's a quiet period with a dull, distant drone overlaid by rubbed taps, like wet fingers pressed into drum skin and it's very effective--dark and dystopic. The mood unravels a bit however, the sounds becoming less focussed and, again, veering into that "bowed" area (I'm not certain of the actual means of production here, but it has the same feel) that's so difficult to maintain. The interest level fluctuates but, overall, there's too much activity that becomes treading of water, an instance where shortening would have been highly beneficial. It's a tough balance and the dup teeters on the edge of some good things but just lacking, to these ears, some degree of concision. "Side B" begins quite seductively, with liquid, rolling sounds from the guitar and mini-barrages from the drums--very active, yes, but with purpose, possessing a nice careening quality. But again, focus is lost and the excess of activity doesn't quite compensate. Again, the drum bowing (I think) is prominent and, as is the case in players as otherwise masterful as Prevost, its really hard to integrate. As in the first piece, solid moments are achieved but evaporate too quickly. Maybe that's enough. I wanted to hear more space, more grace.

Observatory

Miguel Prado - Kempelen's Lesson (Pilgrim Talk/Heresy)

Wolfgang von Kempelen is well-known for constructing, around 1770, a contraption called "The Turk", a [purported automaton capable of playing chess (in fact, a human was secreted within). Alesser known, though more truthful invention of his was the Speaking Machine, a device rather rudimentary by modern standards, consisting of a bellows, a read and resonating chamber, but impressive enough in its day. Which "Kempelen" is being referred to in the title of this 7", 45rpm vinyl (lathe cut by Peter King, limited edition of 50) might be an interesting question, given Prado's tendency to prod and poke the often soft underbelly of contemporary improvisation. From the titles, one assumes that the speaking machine is the reference, but I wonder..."Criptolalia" (more often, "Cryptolalia"), is "the use of obscure (or private) language", an easily enough applied observation on this scene while "glossolalia"--well, I needn't elaborate. (The full title of the track is "Glossolalia-Laden"; if "laden" is German, not English, the translation is "load"). The fine print forming the graphic basis of the wraparound cover consists of words, alphabetically arranged from "aberrant" to "cirrocumulus".

The sounds? They seem to be tape splices from disparate sources--snatches of voices, warped, older soundtrack recordings, feathery static, vinyl...the release note cites Berkeley: "the ghost of departed quantities" and there is, to my ears, something of that here, as though Prado is manipulating a device capable of, sporadically and without clarity, honing in on sounds that transpired in a room in times past. The ten minutes on the two sides (I listened via download) are perhaps more subdued than one expects from Prado and flow in a very enticing, unforced way, very mysterious, as though he'd simply turned on a device that captured some ongoing, obscure and partial input. I could have listened far longer, engaged in some auralalia. Good stuff.

Pilgrim Talk

Heresy

Patrick Farmer/David Lacey - Pictures of Men (Copy for Your Records)

Pigs. And geese.

I'm guessing if you surveyed field recordings issued over the last ten or so years, especially those created by musicians not exclusively involved in that area, insects would be over-represented in the animal sounds category. Birds too, perhaps. Distant dogs are always good to lend a sense of space, even of desolation. btw, if there's not an indie rock band called Distant Dogs, there should be. But we don't get nearly enough pigs. Until now.

Perhaps meant ironically, "Pictures of Men" commences with five or more minutes of wonderfully snorting, slimy, guffawing pigs, accompanied by a horde of geese in some state of upset. Maybe Farmer's merely capitalizing on the latent potential in his surname. Whatever the case, it's a welcome and wonderful sound world and it sticks out its collective snout a couple of times further in. When a sine-like tone enters, you can't help but think it a wry comment on Michael Pisaro's careful and beautiful insertions of sines into field recordings ("Transparent City"), attempting to approximate some basic tone in the wind, etc. Things do move on, more or less in a manner I tend to think of as cinematic. That is, it's easy to visualize scenes accompanying the music, as rough and tumble and differentiated as they are. There's an attractive sort of lurching quality to it, as one hears trains (here, an engagingly loose sound) hiccuping against brief silent swatches, massive flocks of birds (again, presented in a way not normally heard, hear a dense layering of reedy whistles), and a helluva lot more. Farmer and Lacey do a really fine job at melding dynamic levels, textural variation and "tempo" changes; it's active, even hurtling, picking up the listener and carrying him/her along, offering tantalizing glimpses of activity along the shoreline, lingering for perhaps a moment then flowing on.

About midway through, they shift gears, beginning with a lovely, soft, burred drone, eventually interrupted by harsh static--seriously harsh at points. Thee's a more fragmentary feel in effect at this point, a quiet, stubborn hum amongst random(ish) taps and clangs, rather desolate; a skittering sound that appears is like an abandoned robotic insect, helplessly flitting about the floor and windows. Matters slowly begin to congeal somewhat, the menagerie returns, automotive noises intrude, the flow stutters again (beautifully, with ratcheting, gear-like sounds) before it suddenly flattens out into a landscape abutting an airport, planes ascending just overhead, water nearby. Waiting for pigs and geese.

A really strong, immensely satisfying work.

Copy for Your Records

Bruno Duplant - Presque Rien (rhizome.s)

Right from the start their are a couple of problematic issues with this work and more surface as one listens. First, of course, is the title of the release, Duplant knows very well that it was used for a series of pieces by Luc Ferrari and an album on INA-GRM. Duplant's source, however, is a line from Francis Ponge: "L'eau (qu'il contient) ne change presque rien au verre, et le verre (où elle est) ne change rien à l'eau.", translated thusly by Michael Pisaro for this recording: "The water (what it contains) does almost nothing to the glass, and the glass (where it is) does not alter the water." He simply liked the phrase in that context (a context which was to be the instructional score for the work) and went with it. It's an interesting notion, to intentionally disregard any proprietorship of a phrase or title; I kind of admire the effrontery, as if someone titled a new recording, "Bitches Brew" or a new novel, "Gravity's Rainbow"--problematic in the extreme but at least a little provocative.

Secondly, Duplant takes the quotation and asks a large number of musicians to actualize it (limiting themselves to two minutes), concentrating on the phrase, "presque rien", an action not really a whit different from the approach taken fairly routinely by Manfred Werder, right down to using Ponge as a source. What is one to make of this? It's something I've had tangential thoughts on for quite a while--a musician establishes a certain attack, carves a niche and it somehow becomes his or her own, territory where it's not considered polite to trespass, at least overtly so. But if (I would think to myself) an approach is particularly beautiful or rewarding, why not? One can acknowledge that a door has been opened by someone else by why not use it as well? Except that such a high premium is placed on originality that this becomes taboo, the more so the closer one inches toward it. Can you perform your own variation on 4'33"? Maybe there's a distinction to be drawn between (in music) doing it and releasing a recording of it. But why? Duplant seems to be edging toward a Mattin-like questioning of norms held sacred in this field and, even if the results are uneven, I can't help but think this is by and large a good thing.

Ah, the results. Forty-four musicians are represented herein, sequenced alphabetically by first name. I suppose I should list them, especially since a "list" is more or less what Duplant was after. Ana Foutel, Barry Chabala, Brian Labycz, Bruno Duplant, Bryan Eubanks, D'Incise, Dafne Vicente Sandoval, Daniel Jones, Darius Ciuta, Delphine Dora, Dimitra Lazaridou Chatzigoga, Dominic Lash, Ernesto Rodrigues, Eva-Maria Houben, Fergus Kelly, Ferran Fages, Gil Sansón, Grisha Shakhnes, Iliya Belorukov, Jamie Drouin, Jez Riley French, Johnny Chang, Jonas Kocher (with Dafne Stefanou), Joseph Clayton Mills, Julien Héraud, Jürg Frey, Keith Rowe, Lance Austin Olsen, Lee Noyes, Lucio Capece, Massimo Magee, Michael Pisaro, Paco Rossique, Paulo Chagas, Pedro Chambel, Philippe Lenglet, Rachael Wadham, Ryoko Akama (with John Bryan), Simon Reynall, Stefan Thut, Travis Johnson and Vanessa Rossetto. It's very difficult listening in the sense of trying to assign any kind of structure or cohesiveness to the undertaking. The actualizations appear one immediately following the other, generally pretty quiet (not surprising, given the nature of the image in the line referred to) but, in memory, tending to blur into one another. It becomes a fools errand to say, "liked that one, don't like this so much", etc. but there's also no sense of each contribution fitting into soe greater whole. It's simply a list. I found it frustrating in a manner similar to my experiences with much of Tom Johnson's music, particularly something like "The Chord Catalog". As there, it becomes clear that one has to listen differently, though it's no easy task for these ears to manage that. I would have preferred that the pieces were isolated from one another, with perhaps a minute or more of silence between. But then, you'd be confronted with more art object than list and the latter is Duplant's objective, so you're forced to just deal with it or not.

The problem is that doing so and given the brevity of the pieces, you almost have to sit and follow the contributor listing with some intentness as you go. "OK, here's Eubanks, this one's Frey, now Thut", etc., mentally checking them off as you go. It's not how I enjoy listening, though, preferring to hear the thing "as a whole", except there is no whole, hence the frustration. I find myself, after each track, getting up and pausing the player, an awkward maneuver to say the least, though I can picture Mattin grinning at such activity. Loaded into iTunes and experienced at random via shuffle, I've no doubt they'll be welcome nuggets, even if that means abjuring their listlike qualities. Tant pis! :-)

I'd be curious to get the reaction of others to this offering. If not at the moment, it should be available soon at:

rhizome.s

Bruno Duplant - Le rêve de la nuit est un rêve sans rêveur (diafani)

Two solo organ works, over an hour each, by Duplant, the first dedicated to Eva Maria Houben, the second to Jakob Ullmann (diafani is Houben's label). "là où nos rêves se forment", to Houben, begins as a kind of lighthouse-in-the-fog piece, the long tones emerging and disappearing into the mist. However Duplant is manipulating the organ to generate these sounds, what one hears is airy and slightly reedy, with muffled rumblings beneath. This steady state occupies the first 25 or so minutes, a slow kind of pulse, before matters bend slightly into a looser wash of tones, deepening somewhat, adding adjacent colors but remaining in the same general sound world just more amorphous and outward flowing. It eventually flattens out into a kind of shallow sea, eddying here and there. Good, contemplative work.

"là où nos rêves s'effacent", for Ullmann, uses sounds even further removed from what one might expect from an organ, similarly airy to those in the other piece but deeper and raspier, visited on occasion by single, very low booms (like massive plucked bass notes) and infiltrated by what sound for all the world like airplanes. There are a series of strong, dark surges, all of which lend a more brooding, churning nature to the piece. It's also a good piece though I think it could have been pared down from its hour length to something in the 40-35 minute range without losing anything; overall I prefer the work for Houben. Both have plenty of grain, though, Duplant managing the task of concentrating on a narrow stretch of the sound field while exposing levels of detail that alway maintain interest.

A strong release, certainly one to add to the collection of those who've been enjoying Duplant's music over the past few years.

diafani

Bruno Duplant/Darius Ciuta - Shed I (Triple Bath)

The follow-up to their recording on Mystery Sea, "Shed I" again finds this duo investigating the areas bordering both dark ambient and field recordings, a neighborhood with an industrial edge, acid-tinged, but inviting. The abandoned power plant feeling is enhanced by both the hollow hums and the soft, mechanically repeated sounds, sounding like the desultory operations of large machines at some distance, behind thick walls. Solitary metal scrapes in empty warehouses, the drones of fluorescent lighting, indications of dogs foraging--it's a dystopic image, possessing a layer of oily grime. It's very effective at what it does though it may be too much along the lines of various quasi-similar things heard from labels like Mystery Sea and Unfathomless for some. The dripping water, the low generator thrums and such begin to form their own sub-genre, one that's become quite populated in recent years. Still, "Shed I" is solid and fine of its type.

Triple Bath

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