Whilst Manchester's regular quiet improv and odd experimental night ofrumbunctious shenanigans has gone into hibernation, its instigatorDaniel Weaver (Unplugboy) keeps the soundwaves coming with a typicallycuriously presented double 3" CD. About a year back, Daniel took hiscello input laptop on a trip around various British arthouses anddives, accompanying the drones, judders and high squeals of Japanesemaestro of the no-input mixing desk, Toshimaru Nakamura. He's editeddown his performances to one of these little CDs, and all his duetswith Toshimaru Nakamura to the other one. By the time they reachedManchester, Daniel had dislodged the bridge from his cello and clippedcrocodile clips all over the strings. The two of them were makingalmost no sound at all, and such was their pursual of minimal quietude,that it seemed Toshi's shadow on the wall might've become audible. Itseems that some of the events in other cities rendered up some slightlynoisier material, judging by these two little discs snuggled in theirgrey latex-foam wallet. The Unplugboy disc opens with sounds thatresemble exerted panting breath, and soon a rhythmic door hinge squeakstarts up. Slowly groans and drones of a more recognisably cellicnature arch around. Despite moves towards atonal abstraction, therealways seems to be a rhythmic undertow, even if it's sometimes leftunstated. Usually there's some kinda oddlooping goin' on. Cauldronsbubble and mystic organic sci-fi machines sing their breakingglitch-song. Perhaps Unplugboy's closest companion in laptop / stringinterface invention would be Kaffe Mathews, with whom he's performed inthe past. Both have an interest in seeing just how far they can pushtheir mutant stringsounds without having to resort to high volumeonslaughts. Second track "Newcastle" slowly builds an eerie feel of anasthmatic witches coven summoning down elementals in an operatingtheatre. The "Chinese" helping of Unplugboy's collaboration withToshimaru Nakamura is marked by much denser blocks of sound and highfeedback squeals, under which the cellaptop makes little rumbles like atoy car in trouble. Imagine a life support machine for a being thatbreathes white noise and sine waves, exhaling them as regular sfericpatterns that soon dissolve. The longest portion is "Indian" and openswith squeaker mousey jangles over mindfuck midrange drone-nasties. Thisis where they reach meltdown and the mice run screaming in circles fromthe mouse organ as it catches fire. The emergency klaxons peal thenbreakdown as the monitors smoke. Finally fractured dyslexic morse codeblips into oblivion. The three inch CD format is perhaps in generalunderused and works very well here, leaving me wanting to hear more,and unfortunately the short sound files do a disservice to evolvingsoundscapes that should be heard in their entirety.
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