Certain collaborations are born from the core of inevitability: both Asher Thal-Nir and Miguel Tolosa belong to the rank of enormously insightful sound artists from which we always expect some degree of enchantment, thus wholly justifying a joint release. Cell Memory does not delude, although it is not exactly equivalent to what I was figuring out in anticipation before spinning the CD.
The first track starts with a wraithlike bewailing, repetitive laments wafted by strong currents, a desert sandstorm heard from within a tent. The tone is one of resignation to the acceptance of upcoming chances, regardless of the entailed consequences. The piece then evolves towards sonorities recalling a faulty turbine amidst low murmurs comparable to massive underwater bubbles, in which what sounds like slowed down feedback appears to place an additional element of reiteration in an already haunting soundscape.
The second episode shows a slightly different trait while remaining relevant to the general concept. Again we're greeted by a threatening rumble that establishes its authority on the psyche straight away, then turns into a somewhat comforting incidence. This foundation is soon enriched by a overwhelmingly choral superimposition of stretched emissions, halfway through alien baritones and a potent insufflation blowing transversely in a large fissure. The whole wraps us in a blanket of diffidence, yet we’re also thrilled to be encircled and finally engulfed, as an impenetrable throb dictates the pace of the composition and the ghosts return, worrying appearances that, on the contrary, are back to hunt the demons of unresponsive ignorance.
Well-known recipe, truth be told. But when the chefs are at this level of expertise, one gladly returns to the same restaurant. Translation: four full stars.
Winds Measure
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Monday, 27 April 2009
SHINKEI / LUIGI TURRA – Yu
The bigotry related to reductionism is by now a surpassed phenomenon, especially since the “movement” has welcomed hordes of nondescript pseudo-Zen pretenders who built a career out of sitting mute in front of the audience for a hour of complete stillness, playing a single note then cashing the check.
Where’s the connection with Yu, one might ask. “Everywhere” is the answer, for this record by the Italian duo of David Sani (Shinkei) and Luigi Turra is an exemplary lesson on how to wrinkle intense quietness with significant snippets of sound. “Significant”, in this case, does not necessarily mean “new”: several choices applied by the composers are based upon elements already found in hundreds of neighbouring recordings (with particular reference to subtle presences of dripping water, birds and variously aged persons captured in a transitory phase of everyday life, everything rigorously Japanese from what I’ve been able to detect). But it’s the architectural assessment of the whole piece that makes all the difference in the world: Shinkei and Turra seem to have caught the exact formula for developing the inherent musicality of the sources more or less instantaneously, adding ear-striking frequencies that act both as stimulating counterpoint and enrichment of the basic material.
The commitment to the achievement of an open-minded state is manifest, the narrative resulting linear yet corrugated enough to render the listeners aware of their own fragility. There are instances in which the sheer subsistence of these adjacencies transports in a dimension of brokenhearted fulfillment, an example being the old blues mashed by the shortwave noises in the splendid “Nagoya Koen”, a track that sounds like a John Duncan/Akira Rabelais hybrid disrupted by sudden subsonic appearances.
The ensuing “Kin-Hin” exploits colors from another palette, intersecting rumble, harmonic resonance, whispered hiss and concreteness while remaining linked to the incorporeal aspects of creation. The stupor derived from this kind of listening experience - which can’t possibly take place in a less than silent environment, unless you want to diminish excellent music to the level of circumstantial noise – is exactly the mental frame that large portions of humanity are desperately trying to achieve.
Only, these people are just finding a way to erase the word “failure” from memory, incapable as they are of facing hard realities unaided. Yu, at the end of the day, is precisely that: a magnificent representation of solitariness. The core of a truthful existence, far away from the nonsense of spiritual futility and the affected pretence of “being one” with someone we don’t like, a pecuniary reward the real aim.
Nonvisualobjects
Where’s the connection with Yu, one might ask. “Everywhere” is the answer, for this record by the Italian duo of David Sani (Shinkei) and Luigi Turra is an exemplary lesson on how to wrinkle intense quietness with significant snippets of sound. “Significant”, in this case, does not necessarily mean “new”: several choices applied by the composers are based upon elements already found in hundreds of neighbouring recordings (with particular reference to subtle presences of dripping water, birds and variously aged persons captured in a transitory phase of everyday life, everything rigorously Japanese from what I’ve been able to detect). But it’s the architectural assessment of the whole piece that makes all the difference in the world: Shinkei and Turra seem to have caught the exact formula for developing the inherent musicality of the sources more or less instantaneously, adding ear-striking frequencies that act both as stimulating counterpoint and enrichment of the basic material.
The commitment to the achievement of an open-minded state is manifest, the narrative resulting linear yet corrugated enough to render the listeners aware of their own fragility. There are instances in which the sheer subsistence of these adjacencies transports in a dimension of brokenhearted fulfillment, an example being the old blues mashed by the shortwave noises in the splendid “Nagoya Koen”, a track that sounds like a John Duncan/Akira Rabelais hybrid disrupted by sudden subsonic appearances.
The ensuing “Kin-Hin” exploits colors from another palette, intersecting rumble, harmonic resonance, whispered hiss and concreteness while remaining linked to the incorporeal aspects of creation. The stupor derived from this kind of listening experience - which can’t possibly take place in a less than silent environment, unless you want to diminish excellent music to the level of circumstantial noise – is exactly the mental frame that large portions of humanity are desperately trying to achieve.
Only, these people are just finding a way to erase the word “failure” from memory, incapable as they are of facing hard realities unaided. Yu, at the end of the day, is precisely that: a magnificent representation of solitariness. The core of a truthful existence, far away from the nonsense of spiritual futility and the affected pretence of “being one” with someone we don’t like, a pecuniary reward the real aim.
Nonvisualobjects
Sunday, 26 April 2009
PHROQ – Half-Asleep Music
Francisco Meirino (Phroq) recorded this material at late night - he was barely managing to remain awake - not because of a lack of alternative timing, but to carry out a private experiment after having read an article about uni-hemispheric slow-wave sleep, a phenomenon that causes half of the brain to rest while the other maintains alertness. According to this approach, the resulting music should be guided by the subconscious and essentially identified by what the composer calls “raw intuition”. In reality, in one of those peculiar circumstances subverting the expected order of things, this project appears carefully planned and lucidly executed, which we unquestionably prefer to the inconclusive out-of-tune drowsiness of many drugged idiots worshipped by certain publications.
Mystifying snippets of pragmatism and bewitching sonic pictures of seductive stimulation form a somewhat disjointed narration, where both condensed fragmentariness and surrounding spheres of nerve-tickling frequencies have the same right of citizenship. The high quality derives from Meirino’s capability of shaping the fruits of his research into something that sounds like a consistent totality which, at times, becomes consuming to the level of near-debilitation. Yet the juxtaposition of opposite kinds of source, such as superimposed and manipulated electric hum and human mumbling, penetrates the ears without damage, any aesthetic judgement banished in favour of the pure enjoyment of a now alarming, now hospitable chain of events. Inconveniences in the compositional building are entirely absent and even the most radical episodes do possess a sturdy logic, which is what renders the overall process almost faultless. As far as the timbral relationships are concerned, let’s just say that Phroq is a noncompliant musician and leave it at that.
Definitely ineligible for the soundtrack to nocturnal quietness – indeed one wonders how Meirino managed to avoid trouble with neighbours whilst working on these pieces - Half-Asleep Music is a gutsy exploration of the semi-unknown aspects of transfixion bordering with illuminated edginess. A highly recommended, rewarding listen from every angle.
Entr’acte
Mystifying snippets of pragmatism and bewitching sonic pictures of seductive stimulation form a somewhat disjointed narration, where both condensed fragmentariness and surrounding spheres of nerve-tickling frequencies have the same right of citizenship. The high quality derives from Meirino’s capability of shaping the fruits of his research into something that sounds like a consistent totality which, at times, becomes consuming to the level of near-debilitation. Yet the juxtaposition of opposite kinds of source, such as superimposed and manipulated electric hum and human mumbling, penetrates the ears without damage, any aesthetic judgement banished in favour of the pure enjoyment of a now alarming, now hospitable chain of events. Inconveniences in the compositional building are entirely absent and even the most radical episodes do possess a sturdy logic, which is what renders the overall process almost faultless. As far as the timbral relationships are concerned, let’s just say that Phroq is a noncompliant musician and leave it at that.
Definitely ineligible for the soundtrack to nocturnal quietness – indeed one wonders how Meirino managed to avoid trouble with neighbours whilst working on these pieces - Half-Asleep Music is a gutsy exploration of the semi-unknown aspects of transfixion bordering with illuminated edginess. A highly recommended, rewarding listen from every angle.
Entr’acte
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
JASON KAHN AND TAKEFUMI NAOSHIMA – In A Room
Despite all the talks about “new silence” and its derivates, this is a surprising album - not the least because the title is as self-explanatory as one can get. In fact, the CD contains an exact hour of contemplation between activity and nonbeing, where the environment is not only host but often claims the role of principal character.
The piece is entirely centred around a fundamental parameter, a refrigerator-like hum which remains constant the whole time. Upon this fixed presence, external urban noises (typically, engines of vehicles in transit) and somewhat far-off human presences punctuate an otherwise silent background. The shoes of someone who walks across the room are heard, most probably from the protagonist(s). At times we distinctly detect the subtle breathing of one of the two, characterized by an equally typical micro-whistle of the nose.
Instruments do appear, if extremely sparely: Naoshima slices the air open with mixer board-generated frequencies usually moving in the over-acute regions of the aural range, Kahn alternates stillness and restricted emissions from a collection of unspecified percussions, the whole appearing more as a series of ritual gestures than a “performance”: the closeness, the intensity, the innate introspection of the act are mind-relieving. Describing how these timbres materialize is rather senseless. Some gently snapping wooden cluster, short ringing bursts, small portions of metallic scraping. This music deals with “existing”, not “playing”.
A work whose bareness will keep superficial listeners at a safe distance, In A Room doesn’t present inaccessible complexities yet necessitates of absolute concentration and awareness of where we stand in a particular moment. Learning to listen to the inherent qualities of apparently extraneous factors – and to be even more thankful for quietness - is the name of the game.
Winds Measure
The piece is entirely centred around a fundamental parameter, a refrigerator-like hum which remains constant the whole time. Upon this fixed presence, external urban noises (typically, engines of vehicles in transit) and somewhat far-off human presences punctuate an otherwise silent background. The shoes of someone who walks across the room are heard, most probably from the protagonist(s). At times we distinctly detect the subtle breathing of one of the two, characterized by an equally typical micro-whistle of the nose.
Instruments do appear, if extremely sparely: Naoshima slices the air open with mixer board-generated frequencies usually moving in the over-acute regions of the aural range, Kahn alternates stillness and restricted emissions from a collection of unspecified percussions, the whole appearing more as a series of ritual gestures than a “performance”: the closeness, the intensity, the innate introspection of the act are mind-relieving. Describing how these timbres materialize is rather senseless. Some gently snapping wooden cluster, short ringing bursts, small portions of metallic scraping. This music deals with “existing”, not “playing”.
A work whose bareness will keep superficial listeners at a safe distance, In A Room doesn’t present inaccessible complexities yet necessitates of absolute concentration and awareness of where we stand in a particular moment. Learning to listen to the inherent qualities of apparently extraneous factors – and to be even more thankful for quietness - is the name of the game.
Winds Measure
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