Eva-Maria Houben - lost in dreams - works for piano (Edition Wandelweiser)

Two pieces, one as delicate and beautiful as we've come to expect from Houben, the other a rather surprising suite.

"traumverloren I für klavier (lost in dreams I for piano)" (2010) has a disarmingly "simple" structure: a single note is played, softly and steadily several times (between four and ten, I think, though I could be wrong) followed by a chord of only two or three notes. The single note varies as does the number of iterations, intuitive as far as I can tell though perhaps there's a plan. The chords seem to stay in the general pitch range of the single notes. That's it, the kernel repeated over 33:40, each new section commencing just as the previous one fades away. A great example of the imaginative use of a seemingly non-complex idea, offering wonderful contemplative moments. A jewel.

"klaviersonate nr. 10 (sonata for piano No.10)", subtitled, "les cloches du songe (traumglocken - dream bells)" (2013) is, at least with my knowledge of Houben's work, unexpected: a set of five piece composed "in memoriam" to five composers--Mussorgsky, Enescu, Schumann, Liszt and Messiaen. How the music relates to these composers is beyond my ability to determine, I have to say, save perhaps for the Messiaen tribute. The basic structure in the Mussorgsky section isn't hugely different from the prior piece. Here, a single note is struck and, while it's still resonating, a quick, two note phrase, in a higher pitch, is played. This is at a fairly loud level, the notes shining brilliantly, sounding very much like a certain sequence Tilbury sometimes employs. The Kiev Gate, maybe? Enescu merits a gentler approach, clipped notes contrasting with sets of sustained ones, in sequences that suggest a slow dance, ending with deep, troubled single tones; very moving. For Schumann, Houben presents a two note pattern, the first always the same, the second lower at first, each sustained about twelve seconds, then higher in a quicker pattern. The bells referred to in the subtitle seem prominent here and, one realizes, in all pieces of the set. Liszt's homage begins in appropriately grand style, two loud notes followed by a single, low one. This patterns varies to a two-note one, back and forth, each time the general pitch changing. Again, there's an amount of stridency one doesn't normally associate with Houben, but it's not overbearing at all, more like clearly heard church bells in pure, cold air. Finally, Olivier Messiaen receives the kind of ethereal, sublime, suspended chords he deserves, not overtly imitative but acknowledging his presence. They hover, appear at irregular intervals, tinge the space and vanish.

A very touching, beautiful recording, one in a long line from Houben.

Stefan Thut - drei, 1-21 (Edition Wandelweiser)

A tough nut. Twenty-one pieces, each exactly 3'06" long, recorded independently in three different places at three different times over the course of a year, by the trio of Johnny Chang (violin), Sam Sfirri (melodica) and Jürg Frey (clarinet). The score consists of twenty-one sets of six configurations of from one to three horizontal lines, arranged in two rows of three. So, for example, the first (at least the one in the upper lefthand corner) has an array of two, three and three lines over two, three and one lines. The last, using the same positional logic, is three, one and one over one, two and two. I don't know whether or not any other instructions were given with regard to interpreting the sets, but here the playing is uniformly quiet and spare, each musician contributing soft, grainy, single note lines and leaving a great deal of space in between. I take it that the recordings were done in isolation, with no one knowing what the others had played, where they had placed their sounds within each mini-structure, but I suppose it's possibly the tracks were laid down sequentially, first Chang with his grainy bowings, then Sfirri's gentle melodica and finally Frey's soft, high clarinet. These issues aside, I prefer to simply listen and experience but that's a tricky business as well. The material traces are so scant, such (lovely) wisps, that I find it more conducive to listen as one tries to look at a faint star, "from the corner of my ear", allowing the sounds to just tinge the room. This works quite well, though I'm aware I'm likely "missing" something, unable to grasp the lacy organicism of the composition. A good challenge, happy to grapple with it.

Beat Keller/Reza Khota - Play 11 Microexercises by Christian Wolff (Wandelweiser)

In the notes, Wolff writes about being asked to compose a piece consisting of no more than 100 notes, doing so and enjoying it enough that he wrote a number of them. "I don't worry too much about intensity of focus; it's more about transitoriness and catching what's going by, then letting it go." So we have eleven of these pieces (plus two second takes) rendered by a pair of electric guitarists with roots in jazz and rock, histories that are by no means hidden here. Some of the tracks, like the opening "Exercise No. 12", sound "wolffian", if you will--a series of tones that manage to be both abstract yet highly lyrical, more difficult to grasp than you think they should be. On the second, "Exercise No 1", one of the players introduces brief lines that strike me as jazz-phrased and the result is a bit jarring. I'm guessing a phrase like this isn't specified in the score (I could be wrong!) but is allowed for on the part of the performer. I'm not sure I go along with the choice though, if choice it was. This dynamic surfaces throughout the disc, most overtly in the second take of "Exercise No. 22 (Powerchords)" where, at least, they're open about it! The insertion of a given vernacular should, I'm sure, be countenanced by the score, it's simply a question of taste what one chooses to utilize. I'm reminded of the well-known, hopefully not apocryphal story of Feldman's admonition to an orchestra member playing one of his graphic scores, wherein there was the instruction to play three notes. "Not those notes!" Here, there's something of a Zornian collage feeling at times. Not always, by any means, and a number of the pieces work, for me, very well. On "Exercise No. 8d", for instance, the lengthiest of the cuts, just under twelve minutes, some smooth drones that wouldn't be out of place on an old Fred Frith record sound excellent, perhaps my favorite piece here.

I'm forced to wonder how I'd react if I didn't know these were Wolff compositions. I think differently, which is, of course, unfair but hard to avoid. As is, I went back and forth, trying to keep in mind the transitory approach but being, on occasion, jolted out of that frame by the idiomatic portions. A mixed bag for me, overall, but well worth hearing if only to see one of many possible interpretations of Wolff's music.

Wandelweiser

Peter Streiff - Vokal/Instrumental (Edition Wandelweiser)

Sometimes, music reaches my desk which I genuinely feel is beyond my ken to write about--I simply don't have the necessary tools. This wonderful disc, in large part, is one such so I'll pretty much stick to just giving my impressions and make no real attempt to put the music into context. I do feel confident in saying that, though I haven't heard everything released from Wandelweiser, the music herein will pretty definitely not coincide with your impression of the label, and I think that's a great thing. All praise to Antoine Beuger for being intuitive rather than succumbing to any absurd expectation as to what should or shouldn't be represented.

Streiff's work, at least as indicated here, is widely varied to say the least. The first work is "Sechs Lieder" (1976), six short pieces for contralto (Anne Schmid) and sextet (violin, clarinet, piano, cello, guitar and harp, though all don't appear on every song). To my untutored ear, they fit into what I usually think of as post-WW II art song of a semi-ROmantic variety, though containing a gorgeous sinuosity that's rare enough. The instrumental accompaniment on some, like the second part (no violin) is thick and sumptuous, a joy to hear and nicely contrasted with the following portion, just voice and violin, the latter astringent and soulful. It's not the "type" of music I'm normally drawn to but I love this set.

This is followed by "Melodien Band II" (1983) for solo oboe d'amore (Katherina Suske). I guarantee that if I (or, I daresay, most new music fans) heard this blindfolded, the first minute or so would garner guesses of either Steve Lacy or Anthony Braxton; it carries a bit more of a soprano saxophone than oboe sound to me (the oboe d'amore is slightly larger and fuller -sounding than the traditional oboe). The melodic line is also calmly Braxtonian, though more restrained and clearer than Braxton was likely to have created, with something of an improvisatory feel. But the tones are all pure (no extended technique) and there's a sense of drive, no meandering, while still maintaining a languid air. Very different in character from the preceding suite and, again, very beautiful.

"Nur allein für deine Ohren" (2011) combines the talents of Schmid and Suske, the texts based on various poems, from Rumi to Scwitters, involving "the ambivalence of love". That's a 35-year span between these first three works. It's odd: the oboe d'amore lines sound roughly similar in general to those from the preceding piece but, while the vocal lines often trace a path alongside the reed, these latter sound to me more related to the melodies in "Sechs Lieder". I've no doubt this is some internal prejudice, so to speak, on my part. This combination, therefore, takes me a little more time to grow comfortable with, though repeated listens have allowed it to worm its way into my zone. As said above, I've no idea where this would fit into the "art song" canon, but I enjoy it.

Just when you think you have Streiff pegged, up pops "Zeitstrahl" (2010) for solo aulos, played by Conrad Steinmann. That's a word I think I've encountered in the more abstruse neck of cruciverbalism but still had to look up. Essentially a double-reed flute of ancient Greek origin, often played in paris as is the case here. It's an extremely intense sound, somewhere between a shenai and a hojok, perhaps. The composition nods to minimalism, sometimes sounding like an early Riley piece played by Evan Parker, though there's great use of hesitancy throughout, especially midpoint as it almost fragments into shards that somehow bring Cantor dust to mind, though never so regular. It's a marvelous, unique work.

Yet another shift occurs with "Studie (Sprachzeichen)" (1978) for six violins. A huge, spiky mass, seemingly more like sixty than six, throbbing and prickly. All bowed, I think, the colors ranging from the harshest and most guttural of moans to the sweetly pure, often at the same time. Dense, ornery and fantastic.

Lastly, confounding the novice listener even further, is a composition for two pianos, "Ohrspuren am Drittelberg" (2008), performed by Dominik Blum and Tamriko Kordzaia. My amusing Google translation of this is "Ear trails on mountain-thirds"; I like that. One piano is in "third tone tuning" (admittedly, I have no idea what this means" apart from a relationship with microtones), the other standard. The music is an unusual combination of dreaminess and rigor, sometimes seeming to float away on the odd (and beautiful) tonalities but then being wrenched back into strict, almost march-like processions. Such amazing sounds, though! Ultimately, over its 17 minutes, the piece wanders into the more oneiric territory, evoking Feldman now and then, including a wonderful, near-unison passage of steady up and down progressions in that luscious combination of tunings. Another outstanding work.

I'm sure far deeper appreciation can be mustered by someone more versed in the field(s) occupied by Streiff, but I'm extremely happy to have been exposed to his music, very exciting and captivating work and one of my favorite releases from 2013.

Wandelweiser

Die Hochstapler - The Braxtornette Project (Umlaut)

I love that "Hochstapler" translates to "impostor"....

A quixotic and, well, I guess pretty successful idea, at least on its own terms, taking compositions by Braxton and Coleman (admittedly, I'm suckered in at the start), learning them remarkably well and, more interestingly, staging them in a sequence that journeys from rigorous exposition of themes to freer variations to extremely open structures. In the accompanying notes, we read, "We don't copy them we steal them and restructure their ideas according to ours".

The central groups echoes the instrumentation from classic ensembles of both composers: Pierre Borel (alto), Louis Laurain (trumpet), Antonio Borghini (bass) and Hannes Lingens, he of the recent excellent release on Insub (drums). On the first of four sections in this 2-disc set, Tobias Backhaus replaces Lingens and on the final portion, the Peeping Tom quartet is added: Pierre-Antoine Badaroux (alto), Axel Dörner (trumpet), Joel Grip (bass) and Antonin Gerbal (drums), recalling both Ornette's Free Jazz octet and Braxton's midsize ensembles.

Part I includes four compositions from Braxton's 23 series 9A, B, D, E, all from the first two Arista albums) plus Coleman's "Peace", "Faces and Places", "Free" and "Change of the Century". I should say at the outset that, throughout this recording, these fellows do a remarkable job of nailing the melodic lines, really capturing the nuances. This, to be sure, is all well and good but we want to hear how their larger idea works. You get a glimmer near the beginning when the theme from "Peace" pokes its head into the improvisations on "23E", then takes over. Very nice and only for the briefest moment, when "23D" assumes control. So goes this section, cycling between themes, using the standard head/solo/head format for the most part. Quite enjoyable given the inherent beauty of the melodies and the ease with which they're tossed off, though conceptually not so challenging. Funny, I easily let the larger idea of this recording take precedence, but I should say that everyone involved here plays really well.

The second part expands things a bit, using pieces from Braxton's 40 series (B, F, I, L and O) and some mid- to late 60s Coleman works ("Good Old Days", "European Echoes", "The Ark", "The Empty Foxhole"--there's also a reference to "π"--was there ever an Ornette piece so-called?). It's an extended, 35-minute track and allows for superimposition of themes and, generally, has a much less boppish air than the prior portion. It definitely makes for a more expansive and more lastingly enjoyable endeavor, the motifs segueing in and out, the whole thing a very alive organism. As sprightly and punchy as the first section was, this approach feels more comfortable somehow.

Part III is the logical extension, venturing into collage structures and game situations using Braxton pieces from the 53 and 69 series and six other Coleman works, segments of the compositions emerging and receding, repeating, stretching and otherwise morphing. I found this the most satisfying expedition so far, the mass of jumbled sound now and then coalescing into recognizable melodic lines, decomposing, shifting to another line, free improv or something in between.

Finally, the octet tackles Braxton 348 and "Free Jazz". When they surge into the latter's theme following an engaging period of murkiness, it's quite exciting, the dual drums and basses then providing a rich, pulsating ground for the ensuing solos. But they show good judgment in not simply letting the music devolve into a string of solos, instead consistently arcing back into the Braxtonian sound world and using that to generate more Ornetticism. A solid job all around.

I remember a recording from the mid-90s called "Jump or Die!" by Splatter Trio and Debris, two LA-based ensembles. That was ok, this is better. Anyone with more than a passing interest in either composer, or simply interested in the current European jazz scene, should snatch this baby up.

Hannes Buder/Hannes Lingens - [ro] (Umlaut)

Yet another side of Lingens shows up here in a freely improvised duo with guitarist Buder with four pieces that vary widely in attack (though they're tilted First through Fourth Movements, indicating a connection). In the first, Buder (who I've not heard before) is in a kind of gentle Bailey mode with Linden sliding objects on his skins and adding plunks and soft chimes. It's quite gentle and pleasant, maybe a bit too much so. The second opens up a bit, using soft feedback at first and deep rubbing noises; spacier but holding together well, imparting a good dose of uneasiness. The shorter third section returns to the general world of the first but is much more concise and, to my ears, Buder is somewhere in Messiaen tonality, which is quite beautiful; lovely piece, soft and deep. The last section leaps to an entirely different environment, all harsh atonal buzzes and whispers, often low enough in frequency to generate uncomfortable vibratory sensations. Rough guitar strums appear, muddied in the distance amidst blurred rattling, gradually attaining a bleak kind of clarity by the track's end--a very effective conclusion that draws into question much of what preceded, not the sort of "narrative" that's often encountered. Good job.


Umlaut

John Butcher/Thomas Lehn/John Tilbury - Exta (Fataka)

It's not a rational approach though I'm probably not alone in this--when I see Tilbury performing in improvising ensembles outside of AMM (or in solo contexts), I tend to tense up. Silly, I know, but I hold his music in such reverence that I want it (as though it's my choice!) to be experienced in only ideal settings. Also the fact that a decent amount of his recorded work in such groupings hasn't struck my ears as being particularly successful. In any case, such fears were largely swept aside by this release, which is very fine indeed.

I do wonder if there's a tendency on the part of his younger companions to defer a bit to him; maybe not, but it's not an unreasonable suspicion nor necessarily a bad strategy. Certainly, Butcher and Lehn provide Tilbury ample space in which to be herd, never cluttering the playing field. Tilbury, whether working loudly or softly, has his way, a very steady step wherein each sound he produces, one feels, is chosen for its depth, appropriateness within the context and sheer aural beauty. Tapping a dampened string or playing a trademark arpeggio, there's little mistaking him. So Butcher doesn't let loose with the violent, tremendous cascades of notes nor Lehn erupt with the full panoply of noise that his synth can generate. So the five tracks are quieter than not and, personally, I love hearing both Butcher and Lehn in quieter mode. I'll go a bit further: I enjoy the music here more than the releases from the Prevost/Tilbury incarnation of AMM. Both saxophone and synth provide a freshness of approach that's bracing and quite often, the sheer sound of the three together is unique and gorgeous. Tellingly, I find the strongest cuts here to be the longer ones, where ideas and combinations have time to unfurl and propagate. "Cor", at 19 minutes, is breathtaking at times, extraordinarily rich; I sometimes imagine Lehn forming tendrils keeping Butcher and Tilbury in contact, creating a wonderfully alive, writhing tension. Similarly, "Iecur" charts a great, empty space, Butcher sounding the occasional sonic probe, Lehn limning the fog-enshrouded floor and walls, Tilbury resolutely, if carefully, treading onward; excellent work.

Sure, not everything works perfectly and there's a synth burble or two I could have done without, but overall, "Exta" is supple, thoughtful and all-around fascinating.

Nate Wooley/Seymour wright - About Trumpet and Saxophone (Fataka)

For some reason, it's taken me forever to get around to really hearing Wooley. In fact, I think the last, perhaps only time I really got an earful was on the Blue Collar release on Rossbin about a decade ago where I likely pegged him as part of the Vision Fest/High Zero affiliated crowd, doubtless an oversimplification at best. Doubly odd as we shared a hometown for a good while. In any case, I'm sure I've missed a bunch. Wright I've heard much more of, though sporadically, including a couple of times this past year at Instants Chavirés. My sense of his work, or part of it, was an insistence on dealing with his instrument, shall I say, saxophonically, not as "just" a metal tube, acknowledging its history, not attempting to lose its inherent nature as is often the strategy employed by saxophonists within contemporary improvisation (I think Butcher has been contemplating this for quite some time as well). I don't know Wooley's work nearly well enough to hazard whether he thinks along similar lines and this recording doesn't clear those particular waters.

Nine fairly contained tracks wherein the pair quietly occupies space somewhere to the left of efi and the right of eai. Sometimes the brevity works quite well, as on the first cut, forming a concise, sharply-drawn statement. Other times, as on track 7, it seemed to me that ideas were just beginning to gel and I'd have liked to have heard more exposition. The techniques employed are almost always of the extended variety, though nothing that hasn't been encountered on many an occasion over the past few decades. I'm sure this is well understood by Wright and Wooley and they're simply attempting to construct solid work using those tools. I found it successful about half the time, not caring for sections when the activity felt forced, when there needn't, to my ears, have been anything said but one or the other insisted on saying something, of pushing. Then again, maybe those moments were a prerequisite for subsequent passages that gelled. Frustrating, though maybe that' a good thing.

Fataka

Michel Doneda/Jonas Kocher - le belvédère du rayon vert (Flexion)

Five pieces recorded by Doneda (soprano sax, radios) and Kocher (accordion) in a "half-abandoned" hotel in the south of France, near the border with Spain. The hotel is as much a part of the music as the two instrumentalists as they keep their contributions on the quiet side (though things well up now and then), attempting to blend in with both the physical reality of the building and its atmosphere, contemporary and historical. Doneda gets that sour, harsh breathiness like no one else and it serves him well here while Kocher allots a decent amount of time to "traditional" accordion sounds, albeit often in the extreme low and high ranges of the instrument. The tracks are titled "Chambre 11", "Patio" and Cinemas I, II and III and each has its own character. You're surprised at the onset of the third cut by the sudden presence, in what sounds like a large, empty room, of a male/female conversation, though our stalwart musicians carry on apace. It's not like you hear footsteps or anything so this may be a result of my simply imagining it, but I do get a nice sense of the pair slowly roaming around, poking their axes into corners and closets, taking in their environs on the move. A fine evocation of place with well-considered musical additions--one of my favorite things from either musician in quite some time.

Flexion

David Dominique - Ritual (CDr)

Boston-based composer David Dominique cites influences ranging from Mingus to Zappa to Sun Ra and many others, all of which can be heard in this bouncy, propulsive session, though I found myself thinking more often of another band from his hometown, Either/Orchestra and, most of all, the good old Microscopic Septet. Dominique plays flugabone on all tracks, which I'll assume is what it sounds like, and he's accompanied by a shifting ensemble that includes up to three reeds, violin (Erik KM Clark, who I've heard on other works emanating out of Cal Arts), guitar, bass and drums. The tracks are fairly short, tightly composed and performed, very well arranged (the band often sounds bigger than it is) with catchy, often boppish melodic lines and the occasional good, tough solo. I hear Mingus most often in the Dolphy-esque alto of either Gavin Templeton or Joe Santa Maria and Zappa both in a few of the complicated, convoluted charts and the odd chugging rhythm, though I also detect a snatch of Willem Breuker here and there. The latter comes to the fore (although I allow that this might well be more me than Dominique) on perhaps my favorite cut, the appropriately titled "Drunk Hump", which also features a roaring baritone solo by Templeton. If I have complaints about the pieces, they might include not caring for the guitar parts and a desire to hear some of the compositions explored at greater length, perhaps incorporating less programmed areas, more room for free improv, letting these densely wound nuggets unfurl a bit. In an interview, Dominique documents the history of some of these works as well as going more deeply into his influences. I'm guessing there's a good bit more to his world than what's presented here, though listeners in tune with those musicians referenced above will find a good deal to enjoy with "Ritual" on its own.

Available at bandcamp

Alan (or Anla) Courtis/BJ Nilsen - Nijmegen Pulse (BromBron)

A set of four pieces by Courtis (depending where you look, he uses Anla or Alan) and BJ Nilsen (who worked with Stilluppsteypa, among others) compiled from field recordings done in and around Nijmegen, Holland. They're quite unassuming on the one hand, quiet and unimposing, though there's a bleakness about them that sends a small chill into one's vertebrae. THe opening piece is next to silent, just a slight urban hum, peaking (about an inch high) a little over halfway in, subsiding; almost nothing and quite satisfying for all that. Numerous birds greet the ear on the next cut, squawking but softened a bit, sunk into the background wash of distant traffic. Church bells enter as the bird call become lighter and, possibly, one hears electronic work by the pair, but it's at a low enough volume and is so hazy that I'm not sure it's direct contributions or altered (maybe unaltered!) site recordings. In any case, it's hollow, metallic and foreboding--very effective. More distant, empty space begins the third track before, a few minutes in, random, irregular drips of water appear, metal banging, muted, around some dark corner. Human voices and non-mechanical activity finally seep in on the final track, soon replaced by agitated, scurrying sounds. As always here, contrary to many hyper-realist field recordings, things remain mysterious and slightly blurry, the sounds having a rounded aspect as if only dimly glimpsed. Even the wind, howling unobstructed through gray passageways, goes in and out of range, as if heard from deep beneath the city. Only at the very end does a drill begin to roar, boring in on the listener, drawing ever closer, reaching just the other side of the wall before it too expires.

Strong work, well laid out, harshly cinematic.

BromBron (under Korm Plastics)

Bespoken - Plays Nick Storring and Daniel Brandes (Heavy Fog)

Bespoken is a newly formed new music ensemble from Toronto (see somewhat hazy info here) and Storring a member thereof, playing cello and perhaps other instruments. Their first recording features music by Storring and Wandelweiser-affiliated composer Daniel Brandes.

Storring's "Algre Douce" is in four movements. The first has a lovely, dreamy feel, the melodica, autoharp, piano, violin & cello gliding past each other, the latter pair adding piquancy to the colorful haze. The autoharp stirred memories of Laraaji's late 70s work, the slower sections, but that string line lends a far more melancholy air. The second shifts gears, enjoyably lurching into territory that brings to mind Cage's Sonatas and Interludes but also includes (inadvertently, I imagine) a repeated melodic line that recalls "Isn't She Lovely" (!!). It's very charming and quirky, a kind of clockwork construction. Next is something of a dance between piano/percussion, stepping daintily on tiptoe, and strings looking on sadly and giving soft, plaintive cries. The dance gradually accedes to the violin and cello, creating a descent into a peaceful wistfulness before a beautiful piano denouement. The finale gives knowing, smiling nods to what I think of as Elizabethan music, though I'm sketchy enough on the subject that I may be well off. I found myself thinking of the sly work of John White. It's an extremely warm, engaging set of pictures, sometimes humorous, sometime touching and, despite the references I've made above, very unique sounding.

Brandes' piece, "Intimations of Melody", for violin, cello, piano, e-bowed acoustic guitar and melodica, sits more squarely in the Wandelweiser ethos, a 32-minute work, not overly quiet but subdued, the ensemble tracing grainy but steady lines of varying duration, having the sense of overlapping lines of irregular length and varying intervals. I'mm not sure what options, if any, the performers have in terms of choice of pitch, duration, etc. The dynamic level is fairly consistent and there are no substantial silent sections. I have the mental image of undulating plates having a certain amount of elasticity, like scales, eddying alongside one another, always shifting slightly but conveying a consistent overall form. Maybe it's the presence of the melodica, but I also sometimes find myself thinking of a very slowed down version of a Christian Wolff piece. In any case, it's a fine work, quite immersive, containing patterns aplenty, a nice balance of sweet and sour and is captivating throughout.

Two strong works, then. I'm greatly looking forward to hearing more from both the composers and the ensemble.

Heavy Fog

Ilya Belorukov/Harpakahylo/Patryk Lichota/Kim Nasung - After (Nueni)

The first release on Hector Rey's new label and it's a good, rough little nugget. Three tracks and only some 15 minutes in length, a quartet of Belorukov (alto), Harpakahylo (drums, objects), Lichota (saxophones, objects) and Nasung (guzheng). The first track contrasts percolating sounds from the reeds and light rattles from, perhaps, the guzheng with dark, soft moans beneath and, later, even softer wafting lines from one of the saxophones--really strong, great layering, very evocative. Cut two is quieter fare--breath tones, key pops, various rustlings and rubbings, gelling into longer sounds as the piece goes on--a bit more "standard" but well-paced and finely executed. The final, brief piece begins more turbulently but again settles into a space where muted drones co-exist happily with the scrapes and grit. Fro this small sampling, it seems as though this is a kind of operating principle with the quartet or more likely just a momentary tendency. It's a nice taste though, curious to hear where they go if they continue as a unit.

Lali Barrière/Miguel A. Garcia - O⅃ƎUႱƎꟼƧƎ (Nueni)

Using amplified objects and no-input mixers, Barrière and Garcia have put together one of those recordings where my level of enjoyment (high) matches my inability to say much of anything coherent about it. It's generally very quiet although two of the four tracks begin with bursts of harsh noise and there are several lesser eruptions throughout. The sounds are packed with some degree of denseness, busy enough to generate a kind of scurrying quality though not so much as to become gabby. There are a few elements that are long-held, though they tend to be backgrounded, the more percussive or burblingly electronic sounds catching your attention more easily. It's very calm in the sense that you don't feel the pair is hurrying to get anywhere, just carefully ambling about, noticing the odd patch of interest, investigating it for a bit, moving on. They create an active, very alive space, airy but subtly intense. Something clicks really well here, some tensile connections established that vanish when you try to look at them directly. Really fine work, I highly recommended seeking it out.

Nueni

Christoph Korn/Lasse-Marc Riek - Collection, II (Gruenrekorder)

Track 31 - Location- Grave of Franz Kafka; Record- 28.03.11, 3.54 PM, New Jewish Cemetery, Prague (CZ) Delete- 01.04.11, 12.21 PM, Duration- 2'15"

One of fifty entries in this collection, made up of similarly formatted descriptions of site recordings realized by Korn and Riek from 2005 to 2012, subsequently erased. The CD-sized book devotes two pages to the procedure and some of the ideas behind it (notes by Georg Imdahl), then lists each recording, in blue text, one per page, in chronological order. The reader (the would-be listener) forms a mental image, visual certainly, perhaps aural, even olfactory of the place and time and imagines what the pair experienced. This is the second such collection, the first, published in 2007, follows the same structure, though with more notes.

It's a bit akin to Manfred Werder's works, I think, of which I've questioned the need to actually record them rather than "doing it yourself" and experiencing them directly. Here again, you're at a remove from the action, simply thinking about what Korn and Riek heard and felt on these occasions and then chose to hide. There's something magical about that. I dont suppose you'd want everyone doing it, but I'm very happy someone has. I like it a lot.

Merzouga - 52°46' North 13°29' East - Music for Wax-Cylinders (Gruenrekorder)

In addition to being a small village in southern Morocco, Merzouga is the duo of Eva Pöpplein (composition, electronics) and Janko Hanushevsky (composition and prepared electric bass). I'd previously heard their "Mekong Morning Glory" a couple of years ago, which I liked pretty well though thought it was a little too picturesque. Here, they've conducted excavations into the wax cylinder collection of the Berlin Phonograph Archive, unearthing eleven samples recorded from 1906 to 1931in Hungary, Egypt, Tierra del Fuego, Yemen, Abyssinia, Bali, Samoa, Switzerland, Mexico and China, weaving them into a kind of variegated rug augmented by subtle additions of their own. The recordings have inherent interest of their own, of course, and are presented more or less sequentially, always accompanied by varying degrees of cylinder hiss and scratch. Sometimes the contemporary additions (or, at least, what I perceive them to be; I'm not always sure) fit in beautifully, other times, I'd have preferred to hear the old recordings unaccompanied. But those ancient sounds, all of which are music-realted, are so fascinating--there's an example of the well-known Ramayana Monkey Chant, but all else was unknown territory for me--that it's quite easy to simply listen to the steady flow of them amidst the rapid, material "noise" of the wax and have a grand time doing so.


Gruenrekorder

Tarab - atrata (Unfathomless)

A 34-minute excursion investigating the sound properties of vacant lots and nearby areas in North Melbourne, Australia and a typically worthwhile one from Tarab, whose work I've enjoyed since fist hearing his "surface drift" almost ten years ago. Suitably bleak, ranging from a dry, sandy beginning, rising in periodic crests of harsh mixtures of treated footsteps, oceans of insects and birds, dopplering vehicles and, it seems, an enormous supply of other sounds, whipped into vortices of noise. Dryness seems like the operative word for the first half of the work, abetted by deep, booming resonance. I'm intrigued by how hard a time I often have distinguishing between fire and water sounds on field recordings (if not informed one way or the other). I was confused once again for a few minutes here until the liquid nature became apparent (and after confirming that Tarab mentions a creek in his description). These somewhat placid sounds are soon overturned by a roar, possibly the same water cascading through a sheet metal lined, container, I've no idea. Dogs bark in the distance while up close it sounds like people pawing through garbage. It ends with dry steps.

Another strong effort form Tarab, good stuff.

Unfathomless

James Wyness - stultifera navis (Mystery Sea)

Wyness conjures up a more pastoral (if somewhat gothic) scene, though cloaked in mist and vapor. Technological sources are utilized but are embedded within the dark echoes and drips. (I admit to assuming the title referred to flora of some sort, not the satire known as The Ship of Fools!) It's one of those processed field recordings that's too wooly and amorphous for my taste, the billowy echoes, drips and muffled clanks combining into a kind of white noise that doesn't quite hold my interest. I kept thinking of the bejeweled grottoes painted by Moreau, attractive at first glance but not yielding more at closer inspection. There's a good deal going on here but it seems to sit still more than flow for its 26 minutes, perhaps Wyness' intention, but I wanted more movement and greater sound differentiation. Your Stygian voyage may vary.

Mystery Sea

Mike Majkowski - Why is there something instead of nothing? (Bocian)

Two pretty fantastic, obsessive solo double bass compositions by Majkowski on this LP.

"On "Belt of sand", Majkowski plays, for 15 minutes, an extraordinarily rapid arco line (has to be 6-8 notes per second), usually a fairly high pitch, over some low, rumbling and knocking notes. Whether these latter are a kind of "by product" of the bowing or are produced independently, I don't know. Sometimes it seems like the bowed notes tumble into the more percussive ones. The entire piece is this one sustained activity, with all the perturbations and presumably accidental variations that occur. It's the rare piece wherein furious activity creates an odd sense of calm surface; well, "calm" would be the wrong word, more like a membrane that's vibrating in a pattern that flows from predictable to turbulent. It's a tour de force on the one hand but, crucially, one is always aware of the music produced instead of being distracted by the producer. A great piece.

"A shadow of silver dipped in gold" is quite different, though just as single-minded and rewarding. A bowed, descending, two-note motif, medium-slow, and a six or seven second period between to hear the fading resonance is played for the first half of the work, about nine minutes. It's a very attractive little nugget on its own, both the grain of the notes and the lingering echo they leave in the air. I'm sure Majkowski's intent is to play them uniformly, but the automatic difference in each iteration make for fascinating listening in and of themselves. At that halfway point, he switches to a single, strongly plucked note. Again, there are about six seconds between each attack. That's all. And it sounds great. Each echo contains at least three distinct pulses or pitch variations as it fades making for utterly absorbing listening.

A wonderful, unusual and extremely focussed release--have turntable, give a listen.

Bocian

Derek Bailey/Simon H. Fell - The Complete 15th August 2001 (Confront)

Previously released in part on a Confront 3", the entire session that took place on my 47th birthday is now available.

This is a problematic release for me to write about as there are two distinct ways I can go at it. One is as a listener at the tail-end of 2013, someone for whom the kind of music practiced here no longer inspires very much interest at all. The other is as myself in 2001, when interest in said music was decidedly on the wane but still held a decent amount of fascination. As much as I love Bailey, my tastes in his work have always run toward the sparer end of things, the solo recordings, the one with Min Tanaka, etc.; here, he's pretty much aflutter, dense and hyperactive. Although that may not be fair--it could be Fell occupying every vacant interstice. My history with Fell's work is also spotty, from early on (late 80s?) owning some of the LPs on Bruce's Fingers and, a bit later, Composition 30. In almost all instances, I greatly enjoyed parts of it, found other sections tedious going, though I greatly enjoyed his work with IST and VHF. The one time I caught him live, at Tonic (I forget the configuration) was similar, a combination of super-impressive (possibly the only time I've ever witnessed a bassist use his ear as a string depressor or bow his own fingers) and perhaps needlessly pyrotechnic.

All of which to say that it's hard for me to get into anywhere near the frame of mind required to give this a dispassionate hearing. Four tracks, totaling 70 minutes, two done before taking a tea break, two afterwards, Bailey on acoustic guitar throughout. I should say at the outset that there are glimmers of brilliance scattered everywhere, the first in a brief "solo" portion by Bailey about eight minutes into the initial track--stunning. Even when Fell enters with a torrent of hollow, fierce plucks, the combination works perfectly for a while. I often had the impression, seeing Bailey, that he was quite willing to play in his own world, giving little regard to those sharing the bandstand. Not rudely, of course, simply treating the contributions of others as just another sound in the room unless they played something extraordinary enough to catch his attention (as when he played with Cecil Taylor at Tonic). I get something of that sense here, the guitarist drifting out of and occasionally into the "conversation". Maybe Fell approaches things similarly; I'm not familiar enough with his work to know. I don't think it's a bad approach at all, think it can lead to some great tensions and, in a way, "natural" music.

The second cut opens beautifully as well, Bailey wrenching single notes from his guitar as only he could, Fell in the depths of the bass. It's only maintained for a minute or so before descending into the more routine, if still reasonably exciting interplay that makes up the general tone of the session. I guess it's pointless to sit here hoping for more areas of silence, of appreciation for things in the room outside of themselves. Nonetheless, that feeling persists. I have to just plunge into it, accept the parameters, stick my head between the speakers (Bailey on the left, Fell on the right) and deal. As much as it's possible to get lost in the maelstrom, it's still the quieter portions (like the end of the third track or the beginning of the fourth, when Fell switches to bow) that speak to me most deeply.

But for most fans of either musician, this release is clearly a must-have. Well recorded, vigorous playing, strong attacks; it'll satisfy the appetites of the great majority. It's only us old cranks who'll be left hankering, vainly, for some of that old Bailey introspection.

In lieu of the (hopefully) upcoming Confront website, the disc should be available from Metamkine in Europe and Squidco in the States.

John Butcher/Leonel Kaplan/Christof Kurzmann - Shortening Distance (l'Innomable)

A 2012 live concert, about a half hour's worth, from the 2012 Ulrichsberg Kaleidophon Festival, Butcher on saxophones and feedback, Kaplan on trumpet and Kurzmann manipulating ppooll software.

The set begins in an almost pastoral fashion, restrained and offhandedly lyrical, and remains withdrawn and soft throughout. Kurzmnn does a really nice job of integrating the electronics, creating tones that tinge the acoustic sounds here, introducing quiet, tolling pulses there. Kaplan tends to occupy the breath/spittle zone, again seemingly "on the side", washing his sounds along those created by his companions. Butcher is the most active, the one more overtly introducing new elements, but these are always subtle, just the gentlest of prods to investigate this area, then that one. There's a brief cat-fight (muted) about eight minutes in that raises a smile, a darker, drone-ish section following; both show great sensitivity from Kurzmann in his ability to both color (he generates an arco bass sound at one point, I think) and subtly push things forward without elbowing. The trio locates this ground and explores it, never noodling, always keeping matters interesting. A few minutes form the set's conclusion, Butcher plays a surprising jazzy line that, for me, recalls Marion Brown--it works perfectly, as beautiful as it is unexpected. He repeats it several times, loosely and comfortably, Kaplan quietly breathing, Kurzmann softly chiming.

A very satisfying performance, easily recommendable to any fans of the individuals involved.

Irena Tomažin/Christof Kurzmann - 2., Klanggasse (l'Innomable)

Two tracks, a 2011 performance from Ljubljana and a 2013 one recorded at Christoph Amann's Vienna studio, Kurzmann on lloopp in the first instance, ppooll in the second, Tomažin on voice and dictaphone.

I thought, given the nature of the contributors, that this might be the latest in Kurzmann's song projects, an avenue of his that I've had many problems with, but it's not at all, more free improv duos. Well, almost. The Ljubljana set begins that way; Kurzmann constructs a very attractive web of sounds; as in the disc above he's often laying out pulses, here evoking distant foghorns or muted, heavy bells. But he also uses a range from scratchy to droneish, always sensitive to colors. Tomažin, for the most part, works in territory previously mined by any number of free vocalists--Ami Yoshida came to mind frequently. It's a tough thing, I imagine--strangled squeaks and the like tend to sound the same after a while. Still, the pair manage to make it work, by and large. Near the end, you hear an obvious, arguably too obvious, Kurzmann-penned melodic line begin to be sung on the dictaphone, soon echoed live. The appending is apropos in context and, even if we've essentially all heard this before, it gives the piece a firm structure.

The Vienna set is similar to an extent, also starting out free and loose, if somehow less compelling than the earlier track. But about ten minutes in, Tomažin begins intoning tonal lines that may be in Slovenian, seeming to refer to Eastern European folk traditions (though I could be far off on that). This breaks down, perhaps unfortunately, into a freer section where both retreat into more standard tropes, yelping and staticky electronica. They go back and forth from this to tonal references and I find myself greatly preferring the latter. It's a tough tack--too tonal and it can veer toward the banal but they seem less comfortable, and more routine, in the freer sections.

I was left intrigued but ultimately unsatisfied by the sets.

l'Innomable

Martyna Poznanska - Listening East (CDr)

The more artist I hear who are working in field recordings, the more it begins to dawn on me how widespread the work can be. It isn't always, by any means, but I'm struck on occasion how individual the sounds can seem at times, a quasi-paradoxical condition, I'd think. Poznanska, new to me, took her mics eastward from Berlin, to eastern Poland, Ukraine, Belarus and Georgia and the results are wonderful, very different in some ways from others in the field that I've heard.

"микроавтобус", the opening track, is marvelous--I've no idea of the source of these moans; they sound animal-like, as though they could be seals, maybe birds, but at the same time it wouldn't surprise me if they're mechanical in nature, whistles or sirens. Whatever, they're intensely plaintive, ghostly and moving, floating over the adjacent harbor (?) sounds. Poznanska doesn't avoid the beautifully banal, however, following that piece with "Odessa's Best Accordionist and a Cat", amidst rain, a fine snapshot capturing the moment perfectly and lending it a special, evocative atmosphere; the rain makes the piece. There's a great variety here as well as a sense of composition about the pieces; I'm assuming there's been a good amount of post-recording construction and it's very solidly done. Each track coheres well (thirteen of them, fairly short--which helps--from less than a minute to about seven) and tends to traverse several points from start to finish. Sea sounds, traffic, static sizzle, overheard and fragmented music and conversations, urban vibrations. Those moans from the first track return in the tenth, sounding more siren-like; really great.

The disc as a whole is quite strong, flowing well, each piece contributing something, often quite striking, always showing a fine discernment for both sonic interest and subtle social import. Poznanska is certainly someone to keep an ear on.

Poznanska

Philip Samartzis - Current (Bogong Sound)

There's also field recordings as more direct social commentary and documentation of a more general, underlying state of affairs. The two works on Samartzis' latest offering deal with power, electric power, its sources in Australia and, implicitly, associated issues.

"Flow" is concerned with hydroelectric power and traces the process from the source (gurgling water and squeaking wood, perhaps from a mill?) into power (ringing, semi-pure tones of sine-like character, lined with deep generator hum). Water cascades through vast interiors, swirls, booming, through gigantic containers, a steady thrum permeating everything. There's a nagging sense of missing visuals here; as excellent as the sounds themselves are, they cry out for footage. Several times, Samartzis cuts sharply to silence, severing the aural flow, shifting the view slightly; it's both disorienting to one's immediate sense and stabilizing for the piece as a whole. A range of electric sounds are encountered for the duration of the piece, often with a harsh edge, quiet to roaring, while water in its original form (at least soundwise) reappears from time to time. Fine work.

For "Extraction", Samartzis enlists the aid of Michael Vorfeld and sets out to cover the industrial processes necessary for generating the energy in a light bulb. Vorfeld uses various piezo-electric devices rigged to trigger sound responses while Samartzis sifts recordings of coal mine dredgers, turbine generators, high tension power wires and more. It's a humming, crackling, vaguely sinister world wherein large scale events are always contrasted with happenings on more discreet, almost microscopic levels. Raw, prickly and very exciting.

I haven't heard much from Samartzis in recent years--very happy to hear that he continues to produce vital work.

I don't see a direct link for ordering this at Bogong Sound but I imagine they would respond to queries.

Alastair Wilson has put together a compendium of music available for purchase on bandcamp, the proceeds (pay as much as you wish) going to to the Beyond Blue charity, which works toward reducing the impact of depression in Australia. There are nine fine pieces, all of which are worthy of your pocketbook:

1) Sam Pettigrew/Andrew Brooks - 'The next work you hear is something like a work inspired by the artist Vito Acconci' - a spooky, funny, lengthy assemblage of creepy, mumbled conversations ("I've never had a sister"), extracts from (I think) computer generated transportation announcements in test mode ("The next voice you're hearing something like a voice speaking now on" followed by various street intersections) and bits of canned orchestral music (Handel?).

2) An Excerpt from Kostis Kilymis' excellent "Only Presence", recordings of rooms, heard exteriors and phantom electronic tones.

3) A beautiful work from Gil Sansón, 'The Schoenberg Motiv', wandelweiserian in subtlety, comparable to Jürg Frey, perhaps. Probably my favorite thing I've heard from Sansón, though I've not heard nearly enough.

4) Very tasty crackle 'n' hum from Daniel Jones. Quite chewy. Still have some in my back teeth.

5) an "outtake" from Steven Cornford and Samuel Rodgers that's every bit as boring and wonderful as their Cathnor release.

6) Ben Owen coaxing sound from paper--fantastic, dry sliding and tearing, vaguely rhythmic at points. Oddly magical.

7) A strong solo tenor piece from John Butcher, circularly breathed, burred notes at the beginning, soft harmonics following, concluding with fluttering pops.

8) I hadn't heard anything from Phil Julian in a while. His 'York Supplemental' begins with a cascade of bubbly electronics but, happily, soon settles into a grainier gurgle of same which grow progressively harsher until decompressing into a series of impossible to listen to noises. Good stuff!

9) "A F Jones?", I thought "Who the hell is A F Jones? Surely not our own Al?" But indeed it is, everyone's favorite submariner generating a churning, throbbing drone (brilliantly titled, 'X Malfeasant, Appropriating Y'), rich in detail, interpolating a sly, funny rhythmic kick just before descending to the depths, out of sonar range.

Some 124 minutes of all-around excellent music at any price you like, Please do plunk down some coinage!


Admirable Restraint

Michael Pisaro/Greg Stuart - Closed Categories in Cartesian Worlds (Gravity Wave)

It's a rare enough event: someone creates work that you find very challenging initially and you work at it, gradually acquiring at least a decent grasp on it, coming to enjoy it deeply...and the artist continues to move forward, often frustrating you and making you go through the whole process again and again. Rare and great. That's been my experience with Pisaro's work, having first come to it via the earlier, often quite spare Edition Wandelweiser releases, making myself comfortable with them, more recently dealing with the warmer and more "melodic" (if you will) content of work from the past several years, often equally challenging, though in a different manner. Needless to say, apart from the occasional live performance, I'm largely going from what happens to be released and have no real idea how representative this is of the actual music he's writing. But then along comes "Closed Categories in Cartesian Worlds" and, once again, I found myself up against a very difficult wall to penetrate and understand.

In one sense, there's a superficial return to the spareness of earlier work. The piece is scored for bowed crotales and sine tones. It's large--four 16-minute sections, each followed by a two-minute silence--and requires standing way, way back to even attempt to fathom it as a whole. Or, I think, to just submerge oneself into and allow the structure to seep in via osmosis rather than attempting to somehow mentally limn it. Like many of his compositions, there's a near symmetrical framework within which much variation and vibration is understood to occur. Greg Stuart (who is, I surmise, just as responsible for the work's success) recorded the crotales, four long, bowed notes, and sent them to Pisaro who constructed the sine waves. Each sixteen-minute section has four, four-minute sine patterns superimposed, each mixed in a slightly different manner.

That's the rough technical detail. Experiencing it is something else again. I remain unsure of how the vagaries of a given stereo set-up affects the substance of what hits your ears here. My system here in Paris is a notch below the one I had in the States, I think and that one, while fine, wasn't of Niblockian proportions. So take all this with that caveat. It's not a piece to listen to while stationary. We're all, those of us who've had much experience with sine-based work from Lucier (to whom the composition at hand is dedicated) to Sachiko M, used to at least moving our head during performances or playbacks, creating individualized sensations of the music. More than swiveling the noggin, actually walking through the room can be rather incredible, getting the very physical feeling of passing through sound waves. This is the case here, as well. Although there are other odd effects in play. Once, when I was lying on my back, my left ear facing the speakers, my right fairly close to the back of the futon, which was against a wall, I heard about 90% of the sound in my right ear. Very strange. More to the point, it's a work that I find I really have to concentrate on to glean the structure and semi-hidden beauty therein, no mean feat for 72 minutes. As background music, it doesn't work at all! :-) And, despite the workings of the piece being clearly delimited on the jacket's interior, it's still tough for me to grasp on a more than a gross level. So, for me, there's this tension between thinking there's an important aspect I'm missing and reveling in the actual sounds, both as produced by Pisaro and Stuart and as being created in my ears as I both move and try to perceive. Those bell-like tones that emerge on occasion, for instance--I think they're more "there" in the disc than in my cochlea, but I'm not sure; they fade in and out when I move my head.

It's also surpassingly hard to write about. I do think "Closed Categories in Cartesian Worlds" is a great piece of music. Hoping in a few years to figure out why I have this notion.

Gravity Wave

Erst Dist

Haco/Toshiya Tsunoda - TramVibration (Skiti)

Late December, 2006, on a Hankai Line tram in Osaka, Haco wielding a "stereo bugscope system" (to pick up electromagnetic waves), Tsunoda handling contact mics and a stethoscope mic (to capture physical vibrations), most of the sounds thus caught being, in normal circumstances, inaudible. Calling it a "field recording" would seem to be needlessly limiting. You do, here and there, pick up intimations that you're experiencing a train-like situation, in the repeated (though generally muffled) sound of multiple wheels on sections of track and an engine surge every so often. But the play between those electromagnetic waves (possibly similar to what Christina Kubisch does on her "electrical walks"? and the raw, rumbling vibrations of the title is just fantastic. I take it Tsunoda has done substantial sculpting of these sounds, molding them into a matrix of great depth, sensuality and presence, far more vital than the great majority of tape collage work I've ever heard. Again, as with many a work I find especially compelling, the combination of circumscribed means--here, the tram itself and the methods of sound retrieval--with the wealth of elements discovered and their hyper-imaginative and creative deployment, make for an extraordinary event. Thirty-fours minutes of non-stop captivating sound layers that are almost futile to attempt to describe. Haco wrote, "Perhaps because we used the latest model of tram, the electromagnetic sounds seemed to fly through the air. I hadn't imagined that I'd be able to detect so much. It was like being immersed in a colorful sea of electromagnetic sound. I felt like a full-body recorder and experienced a very intense movement through time and place."

There's a good video documentation on the project but the recording is something else again, a favorite of this (y)ear.

Not sure of Skiti's distribution otherwise, but available from Erst Dist

Insub (a sub-label of Insubordinations) has initiated a new (to me) kind of release--one receives a packet, very handsome, about 4 x 6", containing documentation about the release and a download code, thus straddling the line a bit between physical and non-physical object. These are the first two in the label's series.

Hannes Lingens - Four Pieces for Quintet (Insub)

Few things provide more pleasure for me that to, out of the blue, discover the work of a composer that I connect with so quickly. I've doubtless been remiss but Lingens wasn't even a name to me prior to this excellent release. From the interview enclosed, I gather that his scores might often be more overtly complex than this one but "Four Pieces for Quintet" is subtle enough as is, the concision of the score allowing for plenty of variation within a given field.

The quintet is Koen Nutters (double bass), Johnny Chang (viola), Michael Thieke (clarinet), Lingens (Accordion) and Derek Shirley (double bass). The score consists of five bars, each divided into rectangles or squares of colors or empty spaces (each square encompassing 15 seconds, by my reckoning). Five musicians, five colors, each piece lasting five minutes. Players select a tone they feel corresponds with the color and hold that note (all strings arco). Very simple but, given the combination of placement of the frame and the sensitivity of the players involved, the result is rich and profound. The presence of two basses tilts the music toward the low end though that's offset often enough by the viola and accordion especially. Not a new idea, of course, that a graphic score will gently steer improvisers down a path they might not tread otherwise, but still one that's capable of yielding fresh fruit. The pieces, as realized here, sometimes take on a hymn-like feel, very slow, with "voice" lines entering at irregularly staggered intervals, the accordion taking on a breathing, in and out aspect on occasion, others assuming the organ role.

While I'm curious how this score might be handled by different ensembles, this one is just richly layered and stirring. I also clearly need to hear more Lingens. Great work.

Diatribes - Augustus (Insub)

A return to action by Mssrs. Cyril Bondi (floortoms, objects) and d'incise (laptop, objects). The enclosure is a quasi-symmetrical collage that includes the visages of Feldman, La Monte Young and, I think, a young Steve Reich though I don't hear much direct influence. The again, a chair dragged across a floor--possibly! Though the single piece feels improvised, there are apparently agreed upon way stations in place, boundaries to remain within, which likely account for the cohesive structure. The duo has a very granular, particulate sound--I always have the impression of people scurrying through a floorspace densely strewn with detritus--though this is leavened here by accordion-like tones, presumably laptop-generated. Indeed, much of the piece offsets those long tones against the grinding, growling clatter created by Bondi and it's a good contrast, though Bondi gradually ends up bowing (?) an object to more or less match d'incise. The notes describe it as "ritual but yet rational" and that's not bad. You do get the sense of some ulterior, non-musical motivation going on, an air of darkness and mystery that goes a long way toward making the outing a successful one.

A solid set, one of those that I imagine would have been great fun to experience live but it's plenty good here.

Insub

Christina Kubisch/Eckehard Güther - Mosaïque Mosaic (Gruenrekorder)

My ongoing self-examination re: field recordings, to wit: why I enjoy some significantly more than others, continues apace. This, for reasons that are hard to pin down, falls squarely into my comfort zone. Compiled from a 2010 sojourn in Cameroon, Kubisch (who does fascinating electronic work on her own) and Güther fashion a wonderful, well, mosaic, of life there, however small a portion they represent. In this case, it's partly due to the in and out nature of the musical elements presented. The disc open with a standout track, a church service where a strident female voice declaims in English, each phrase quickly translated by a male voice into French, including a great string of "Yes!" "Oui!" "Yes!" "Oui!", etc., before merging into a heartfelt hymn. We walk through metalwork shops, take trams, eavesdrop on a choir practice, listen to announcements from a mosque PA, wander the streets and countryside. Their choices happily de-emphsize the overtly (to Western ears) exotic, giving as fine a sense of place, though different, as they might have done on the streets of Berlin. Beautiful, lengthy conclusion with rain in the distance, irregular drops on nearby metal surfaces, even mixtures of faraway traffic, insects, birds, roosters.

Excellent job, one of the best works in this area I've heard in a while. Still so hard to quantify.

Lasse-Marc Riek - Helgoland (Gruenrekorder)

Helgoland is a German island in the North Sea, used largely as a naval base but also home to cliffs serving as nesting areas for a large variety of marine birds. Tobias Fischer's notes on the album deal both with Riek's personal connection to this island and others in the Baltic Sea as well as raising questions, not unlike some of my own, about eh very subject of field recordings, particularly those which document "nature": "How much passion can possibly go into an animal recording? To what extent can a passage of birdsong express creative ideas? What kind of inner conflicts would you come to terms with by pointing your microphone at nature?" I struggle with some of these and others, though there's definitely pleasure (and education?) to be derived from listening to the clustered squawks of hundreds of gannets, razorbills and kittiwakes. As is often the case (and as I tiresomely reiterate here), the necessary inability of being able to submerge oneself in the actual aural environment gnaws at me--the sounds are one thing, but the smells, winds, rocks and all are another, equally important part. Still, the welter of noise and the depth of sound is visceral enough as is the churning water occasionally captured. Oddly disturbing now and then as well, particularly the mewls and groans of a grey seal puppy that sounds startlingly childlike.

"Helgoland" drew me in, ultimately. More than other types of recordings, this genre seems to depend, for me, on a given state of mind at given times. Today, this works very well.

Rodolphe Alexis - Morne Diablotins (Gruenrekorder)

A documentation of avian, insectile and amphibious life in Guadeloupe and Dominica as well as surrounding, non-aniumal sounds. As with many similar releases I've encountered, it's tough to make any sort of value judgment except to say how well or poorly the environment seems to have been captured, in this instance, very well. Choices of what to include seem based on which particular fauna have been caught on tape, lending a kind of "nature study" feeling to the endeavor. Which is fine--clearly, you don't need to listen to this as an art project, just vicariously troop along with Alexis as he roams the rain forests and volcanic peaks. On the one hand, you can understand his search for a Caribbean "before the arrival of Columbus" but on the other, you wonder how far to take this avoidance of contemporary reality. There's a decided risk of luxuriating in the exotic sounds and forgetting the world around.

And I have to admit, the sounds are pretty impressive even though, necessarily, one would really like to be surrounded by them rather than listening through speakers. Picking a "favorite" track seems strange, but "Grand Etang at dusk" has a lot going for it, including a wonderful, if brief, shower. I get the impression that Alexis has done some post-recording layering, not sure. In any case, while it's not the kind of thing I'd normally find myself going out of my way to listen to, I can't quibble with the quality of the sound--it's routinely dense and intriguing. If you're at all into pure, natural world field recordings, this is right up your alley.

David Rothenberg - Bug Music (Gruenrekorder/Terra Nova)

Not Don Byron (just wanted to get that out of the way).

Reed player Rothenberg accompanied by a cast of thousands, if not millions. 16 shortish tracks wherein Rothenberg (plus the odd human accomplice) is heard amidst cicadas, katydids, leafhoppers, crickets and the famed Lesser Water Boatman and its (loudly) vibrating penis. The pieces are more or less "songs" and easily digestible ones at that, loping along in comfortable grooves. Rothenberg is a good player, has an especially nice sound on the clarinets, but treads a musically very safe pathway here. My first thought was that, if you're going to take insect sounds seriously (and, of course you would), why not try to deal with them somewhere on their own level instead of using them as a kind of exotic accompaniment? Judging form his website, Rothenberg has garnered a good deal of public notice from this combination of interests, appearing on the Today show, getting a profile in The New Yorker, etc., and it's easy to see why: the music itself, with the insectile garnish, is non-demanding in the way that Zornish NYC music has become in the last 20 years. The insects, which by and large are great, by the way, sound more adventurous than the anthropoid contributions which are very competent but staid. One of his press blurbs makes a comparison to the late Joe Maneri--now that might have been an interesting pairing, Papa Joe and some bugs. I found myself thinking back to a concert I saw at BAM in the mid-80s, David Byrne leading a host of Brazilian musicians, me in the audience thinking, "Those guys are so much better than you, Mr. Byrne. Please have the grace to leave the stage and let them play."

I don't mean to be too hard on this. Many people will greatly enjoy it the way they do Frisell, Garbarek and others. It's well played, well constructed and ingratiating. It just seems odd, to me, to relegate these presumed objects of fascination and awe to such a small supporting role, strikes me as a lost opportunity.

Gruenrekorder

Mark Lorenz Kysela - Eins + (Gruenrekorder)

Six compositions by different composers performed by Kysela on clarinets and saxophones with electronic and tape accompaniment.

1) Christoph Ogiermann - Druckblöcke und Zeichenakku-Multationen BCC. In which hyper-physicality is paramount, using exceedingly close miking, capturing every gestural sound in high res detail, Kysel cooperating by out Küchening Küchen in terms of materiality. Scraped footsteps, heavy breathing, visceral saxophonics, ultimately wispy contrails. An impressive display of the composer's desired "whole-body activity", if not my favorite approach to things.

2) Thomas Stiegler - Treibgut IV. A thoughtful piece, constructed in segments of 30 seconds or a minute, those portions consisting of a soprano saxophone playing a simple melodic line or held note (sometimes multi-tracked), steady sine tones and recordings of "secular sounds" (valves, meter, yards), all shuffled and irregularly overlaid. Though livelier, it has the control of a Tom Johnson piece. Also I get the sense of turning over a series of cards, one two or three at a time, revealing images that are similar to an extent but varied, each set self-realted. I like this one a lot.

3) Martin Schüttler - schöner leben 7. For saxophone and electronics, the latter consisting of, in good part, "soundtracks from You Tube videos in which saxophone beginners present their modest progress". Schüttler is interested in non-professionalism, detritus, assemblage worked up from discarded, banal material. The results are disjunctive enough, reminding me of something Zorn might have come up with circa "Locus Solus" had he the available technology. I don't mean that as a slight--the piece works well, a kind of combine, if not a paradoxically transcendent one.

4) Michael Maierhof - splitting 13. Using a plastic cup filled with marbles inserted into the alto saxophone's bell, melding it with other such cups being electronically stimulated on their own. The music is, not surprisingly, buzzy but also very strained and, well, unpleasant. Which I'm sure fulfills Maierhof's intentions. I'm reminded a bit of Thomas Ankersmit's excruciating (and wonderful) experiments of some years back. Similarly here, the listener has to accept a large degree of discomfort, to give up searching for comfort zones of any sort. I found it worthwhile, but its a very tough go.

5) Alvin Lucier - In Memoriam Jon Higgins for clarinet and pure wave oscillator. Well, I'm a complete sucker for this stuff. A relatively early (1985) work, Lucier does his trademarked thing, her having a clarinet playing steady tones against slowly moving sine waves, developing beats that neither instrument is producing on its own but which are being created inside the ear of the listener. Kysela plays cleanly here and the piece takes off as Lucier's tend to do.

6) Uwe Rasch - aus vierundzwanzig: drei. A short piece (about 2 1/2 minutes), loosely inspired by Schubert's "Die Winterreise", not that you'd recognize any association on hearing--delicate, flitting soprano sax against clunking, intentionally awkward percussion. Rather humorous even without the reference though all snickering is brought to an end by a frowning gong smash.

An enjoyable recording, extremely well played, covering a wide range of contemporary composers. What more could you want?

Gruenrekorder

Donato Wharton - Place and Presence (CDr)

A new name to me, Wharton hails originally from Cardiff, Wales but was raised in Germany. Trawling through older tracks available on You Tube, I heard music that was vaguely in Fennesz territory (dreamy melodics combined with glitches), sometimes with a touch of Barry Adamson (extracts from noirish movies embedded in the soundscapes). This recording sounds nothing like that.

Four tracks, each between ten and eleven minutes, all involving sine-like drones and field recordings. When "There are only frequencies" begins, the first thing to come immediately to mind is Michael Pisaro's "Transparent City" series, though there's also something clearly different going on. The wave penetrating the environment (airplane engine prominent) is complex, not, as far as I can determine, attuned to its culled equivalent in the soundscape. Or perhaps it's multiply harmonized. Like all the pieces here, it's fairly steady-state, quavering in place against the ambience, the engine receding, replaced by traffic, gulls, the electronics gradually diminishing to a wooly, faint hum until that's all which remains. Very strong. "It's already there" is even subtler, the electronics reduced to a soft fuzzy glaze, the landscape consistently of distant birds, with the odd shockingly loud crow caw. Again, the piece simply exists there, living up to the album's title--great patience, fine presence. "Turbines 2" interweaves downward spiraling whistles (the turbines, I take it) in a kind of endless arc, à la Tenney, but managing to create a unique space. Donato's ability to hold back serves him well; when he allows some background rustle, very soft, into the mix, the effect is dramatic enough. "Wave wave" concludes the release, almost coming back to where we started, but on an adjacent strand, the sine line a bit more focussed, rounder, gentle waves of the hydrous variety behind, the odd avian twitter. The gradual ramping up as the piece ends, generating a heightend sense of paranoia and claustrophobia, comes as an unsettling but delicious surprise.

Longtime readers are aware that I have a special affinity for music that seeks and locates a relatively narrow sliver, abides there a while and unearths much unexpected beauty. "Place and Presence" fits this to a 't'. Penetrating, intelligent work--don't let it pass you by.

Donato Wharton