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Crow Eye Hint is definitely an album that requires headphones or extreme volume to be fully appreciated. The main reason for this is the subtlety of its lengthy opening, which just sounds like sporadic, arrhythmic whooshing and creaking noises when listened to casually. Deeper focus reveals that those whooshes are merely the attack of notes that have been reversed (the tip of the iceberg, so to speak). Much quieter, but much more engrossing, is the murky hum and dynamic swelling of the notes’ backwards decay as Aranos calmly plucks and manipulates the piano wire.
Perhaps sensing that the piece was in grave danger of succeeding as an ambient work, Aranos impishly detonates the reverie after a few minutes with a brief and violent flurry of discordant, conventionally played notes. The microcosmically waxing sound world returns yet again, but with a looming sense of disquiet, as it is now clear that another explosion of dissonance is likely to occur without warning. It doesn’t happen immediately though, and the swelling reversed notes gradually increase in tension and power as Aranos increases the volume and puts the piano’s sustain pedal to work. The effect is quite a visceral one, as the rumbling bass notes begin as a diffuse thrum beneath a nimbus of treated flaps and flutters, but slowly snowball and cohere before roaring and tearing into the aural foreground. After about ten minutes, the long-awaited jarring flurry of notes finally hits once again, but is a little tamer this time and carries with it an entirely new direction.
At this point, Aranos begins playing the piano with the actual keys, but things remain far from conventional. Using the sustain pedal and a single rapidly played note, he creates a woozy, quavering shimmer that he buffets with various amplified thumps and an insistently repeating, oddly chosen tone. Glacially, the tremulous underlying drone increases steadily in depth and density while remaining melodically static until abruptly opening up into a lush, string-enhanced pastoral vista.
The second half of this 54-minute work remains relatively entrenched in that droning vein, which is slightly more listener friendly than that which preceded it. At the very least, it achieves and maintains a distinct flow. However, the placid atmosphere dissipates pretty quickly, as the pulse intensifies and the violins begin to grow more nightmarish and discordant. The piece ultimately becomes quite a harrowing and grotesque caricature of the fleeting oasis of bliss that earlier emerged as its center. That tense and disturbing atmosphere, however, eventually gives way to an eerily throbbing and moaning denouement before finally concluding, appropriately enough, on the surge of a single backwards note.
Crow Eye Hint is a very nuanced, engrossing, and intriguingly structured work and probably one of the best things that I have heard from Aranos. It certainly took me some time and effort to fully absorb and embrace this album, but it was well worth it once I did. Perhaps cognizant of the demanding nature and delayed gratification inherent in such a piece, Aranos has made the album available as a free download for more trepidatious listeners, but the handmade wood, canvas, and woodcut packaging of the actual CD is an endearingly personal touch.
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Hushed tonal breathing and intimated melody are the two primary ingredients used in "Lassithi," the album's opening and central song. It's a leviathan of a recording in more ways than one. At nearly 60 minutes long it is something of a challenge from the outset, and its contents only reinforce its nearly impenetrable depths. The sole instrument used for its composition is the aeolian harp. Composed of a small wooden box, a resonator, and strings, the aeolian harp could produce harmonic overtones by virtue of the wind. Meant to be left in an open window or outside where the breeze could catch its strings, the aeolian harp was not intended for human manipulation, nor was it intended for use in any kind of traditional composition. A quick Youtube search reveals a number of outdoor installations or sound exhibits that sound a little bit like what is found on this record, only Kenny's music reaches for far deeper tones than anything I can find on the Internet.
Some subtle plucking and electronic manipulation allow Kenny to do much more with his instrument of choice. Of course, low end rumblings and indistinct noise play a large role in both "Lassithi" and "Elysium," but there are hints of melody throughout the record, and in some places there are phrases that my mind tells me must have come from a synthesizer. Try and imagine Tangerine Dream's early records filtered through Andrew Chalk's brain; every movement is an organic or wave-like one, but there's enough harmony and echoed rhythm to keep everything from dissolving into a messy soup. "Elysium" stands in defiance of the new age classification I have given the album as Kenny employs a sequence of far darker and more sinister sounds throughout it. Here the strings are vibrated to the point of distortion; either post- production techniques or David's method of playing the harp render the texture of the strings more obvious (think of dragging a penny across nickel-plated guitar strings). In addition, there are further keyboard-like passages and recognizable chords employed, which make the song sound more rigid and imposing than "Lassithi." Had I not been told otherwise, I would have assumed electric guitar and some manner of synthesizer were used to record at least this song, if not both of them.
At over 70 minutes long, Lassithi/Elysium is imposing, but easier to digest than many other records of its kind. Its length implies that it is to be listened to in a way different from other music, but its content is so alluring that it demands rapt attention. However they are heard, both songs are beautiful and nuanced recordings that I place alongside favorites like Coleclough and Chalk's Sumac or Potter and Bradley's Behind Your Very Eyes.
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With such a diverse and long history of musical collaboration, it's easy to see Forkner's music through his work as sideman, producer, and general hired gun. That's unfortunate since he deserves more scrutiny than tags like "worked with… " or "ex-member of…" elicit. That said, Prism Of Eternal Now does fall comfortably into the spaced-out ambient rock of his previous bands, especially Yume Bitsu and Surface of Eceyon. That doesn't mean he's trying to replicate the success of past projects, only that he has always imbued an individual aesthetic sense into almost everything he records.
Forkner plays all the instruments on this album. Given the capabilities of digital multi-tracking, it is not much of an achievement in itself, but the full arrangements and skillful playing here reveal his talents as a multi-instrumentalist. Tabala and water jug percussion propel "Pulses" and "Mystic Prism." Thick synth lines pin another rhythmic layer into the mix, anchoring the drifting sweeps of voice and computerized sound dust.
Live, Forkner's primary instrument is the guitar, but on the album it's somewhat of a nuisance. It wrecks "For Terry," an otherwise great song, by burying its better qualities in queasy noodling. Ironically, "Guitars" is the most pleasing example of the lot, being based on slow distorted rumbles instead of string bending theatrics.
As intrusive as the guitar playing is, it's a logical addition to the music. That bright, sustained guitar sound was a fixture on prog-rock and early ambient albums, though the effect here is more like Carlos Santana than Robert Fripp. More importantly, Forkner does not divorce modern psych music for its unfashionable roots. The hilarious liner-notes perfectly mimic advertisements for meditation aids and self help books. He clearly identifies himself with that aesthetic, putting himself in the strange position of a sincere ironist. But by embracing the New Age connotations of the music, he can play what he loves without the millstone of embarrassment.
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"Nikoman" has been kicking around in Gang Gang Dance's live repertoire for quite a while. Its Arabic keyboard scales, labyrinthine drumming, and dreamy breakdown are little too familiar to elicit surprise nowadays, but there is more urgency in the delivery. Singer Lizi Bougatsos chants the chorus in a Grime patois poles apart from her normal high pitched cooing. Normally, I would be suspicious of her intentions, but Gang Gang Dance avoids the minstrelsy common when white hipsters appropriate hip-hop culture. They have recently recorded a collaboration with MC Tinchy Stryder, so credit is due to them for actually engaging the rap community instead of just caricaturing it.
The instrumental "Oxygen Riddim Demo" is pleasant enough, but lacks the heft I expect from the band (no small feat considering they don't have a bass player). Nonetheless, the song serves as a good interlude and doesn't descend into the outright obnoxiousness some of the filler tracks had on earlier releases. The drum programming lacks a persistent low end, focusing attention on the interplay between guitar and keys. Alone, they can't fill out the arrangement completely, but given some heavy bass and a bit of vocals it could be a real club banger.
The closing track, "The Earthquake that Frees Prisoners," is an elegy to GGD's late bandmate Nathan Maddox, who was killed by lightning in 2002. Through archived recordings, he lends his voice in a monologue about visions he received on visiting Cairo, the Sphinx, and the Great Pyramids. Languid synthesizer washes and Bougatsos's sensuous vocals begin the track with an uneasy calm, abruptly broken by piercing screams and pounding, reverb-swamped drums . The tempo accelerates as flute samples and pulsing electronics lurch in and out of the mix. Maddox's musings become more agitated and surreal, fracturing into component syllables that skip and stutter under a digital knife. The track exudes a stoned paranoia as engaging as it is unsettling.
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Once I got past the awful sleeve (which looks like it was designed for a school project rather than for an album) and pretentious titles I found Telehors to be full of interesting sounds and textures. Smutny has a knack of hiding sounds in the mix that only become apparent when he wants them to. He combines strong synth patterns with all sorts of recordings, some processed and some left natural. Rather than relying on programmed beats all the time, he uses real percussion to liven up the sound. There’s a strong emphasis on environmental sounds like sticks hitting off each other, gentle knocking and little snippets of nature. His use of electronics complements these organic sounds well; the electronics are fluid, seamless and got bucketfuls of warmth.
One of the better parts of the album comes early with “Archpealago,” which is based around a short loop of sampled music. Smutny then uses samples of water, soft static and what sounds like bowed cymbals in addition to his synths to make an elegant and rich piece of music. Everything is used sparingly which allows the various sounds to have their moment in the sun. Later on “Replay” and “Rayse” also stand out. The former is very smooth sounding and again has a very spacious feeling to it, allowing the different elements to breath. One thing I hate with this sort of music is clutter and Smutny avoids it completely. “Rayse” isn’t cluttered but it is busier sounding than the rest of Telehors, the clanging string sounds and almost animal-like electronics are a world away from the relaxed vibes found on the other tracks.
There are times when the pieces are less than exciting. Towards the middle of the album, Smutny seems to lose steam. There’s a track or two that really could have been left off the album which would have made the CD flow much better. “Atlantiscape” peters out midway through the piece and despite Smutny’s best efforts it never gets back on track. The following piece, “Sayls,” also adds little to the album. With these two duds in the centre of the album, they ruin the run that Smutny builds up and it takes a little while before I can get comfortably back into the music.
Telehors is a fine album, it may not be a stunning masterpiece but I certainly wouldn’t kick it out of bed in the morning. There’s a lot of room here for Smutny to explore new realms of sound, it would be a shame if rested on his laurels and produced more of the same. He shows significant promise, especially towards the end of the album, and I’d be interested to see how a follow up to this album would weigh up.
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This is the first album from Wang Changcun, who is a member of the China Sound Unit, a group dedicated to investigating aural phenomena in various urban centers. Blurring the distinction between noise and the avant-garde, it also marks the first release of a Chinese composer by a Western label with international scope.
Of the two tracks on this disc, of more interest is the lengthy opener "Grand Hotel." In this 40-minute composition, Changcun relies on expansive texture to create an ever-shifting landscape. Opening with what could be recycled fragments of broken glass with swelling pitches swimming underneath, before long this gives way to a more mechanical-sounding hum accompanied by rising pitches. After a fade out and then a fade back in, a reptilian undertone fights various effects with whirrs and beeps. More waves of buzzing machinery linger before retreating, and it’s not unlike wandering through a sonic rainstorm, occasionally ducking for cover and at other times making a run for it. Halfway through the piece, a helicopter hovers overhead, yet its motive is unclear. Perhaps it’s a search party looking to rescue wanderers from the storm, or else belonging to some nefarious law enforcement group. Eventually the clouds fade and the sounds drip into puddles. The tranquility is soon shattered when a swarm of insects descends, in turn fed upon by bats that swoop through their repellent mists. Toward the end, the helicopter returns, but this time something is wrong as it groans and stutters, misfires, and for the first time the song comes close to having something like beats. All that’s left at the end is a minimalistic rippling rhythm, with none of the atmospheric noise that permeates the rest of the song. It’s a fine piece, if not terribly different from others like it, but certainly enjoyable.
A little more puzzling is the second song, "King of Image 1995," which is a field recording Changcun taped from a VHS cassette of a man’s funeral attended by singing nuns. As much as I like the music, I’m a little confused as to its inclusion here since Changcun’s manipulations of the source are quite subtle. It might be a little more effective in a different, perhaps documentary, context. Yet as a window into these lives, the track isn’t without its merits.
This album may not be groundbreaking, but it certainly highlights the fact that there is a lot of underground Chinese music yet to be exposed to Western listeners. If Changcun’s work is any indication of its quality, then I’m all ears.
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World Serpent, now defunct, distributed the disc that I have. Among the 12 songs collected are the six from the original LP release of Earth Covers Earth on United Dairies, as well as an additional version of “The Dilly Song.” The second song on the disc “Hourglass (for Diana)” immediately spoke to me on my first listen, and it still speaks to me today. Seventeenth century poet John Hall speaks through it across the centuries with David Tibet as his living mouthpiece. Simple but elegant guitar tracery forms the perfect propulsive backdrop for the quavering violin, at first just sliding out a slow line, a force that builds in tandem with Tibet’s impassioned recitation. When he sings the words, “how senseless are our wishes / yet how great! / with what toil we pursue them / with what sweat! / yet most times for our hurts / so small we see / like children crying for some mercurie” the song kicks in with the violinist sawing hasty circular notes across the strings, as Tibet continues to spit forth his lyrical invective against the works of mankind.
At the same time the words show compassion and understanding. I had a gut reaction to the paradoxical lyrics for the song, taken from the poem “On An Houre-Glasse” and my obsession led me to look further into the works of John Hall. Many were only available on microfiche in the rare book room at Cincinnati’s downtown library. The song is repeated on the sixth track as “Hourglass (for Rosy Abelisk)” and here it is even more haunting with a lisping child’s voice reading it nearly deadpan. Accompanied by an eerie accordion drone courtesy of Steve Stapleton, and echoing female screams placed low in the mix, it is very disconcerting to hear the young child read lines like “issuing in blood and sorrow from the wombe / crauling in tears of mourning to the tombe.” The same voice also sings the title track, which is beautiful in its simplicity as the piano and guitar meld together striking poignant chords. The lyrics are taken from Henry King and again grapple with mans impermanence and the transience of all his efforts and works, the dominant theme of this collection, and a recurring one throughout all of David’s work. “Time Tryeth Truth” is another setting for the same words. Here the boy, David, and Rose Macdowall sing joined by a pensive flute in the foreground.
While David’s lyrical performance on “Rome (for Douglas P.)” is probably my least favorite on the disc, the song does have a nice murmuring drone coupled with guitar distortion that recurs with the chorus. The theme of Rome as a corrupt spiritual Imperium overlaying this world is characteristic of Tibet’s work. His visionary conception of Rome, while highly personal and idiosyncratic, also puts him in league with other cultural heroes of mine like William Blake, who believed that Roman art was destructive to the natural imagination, and Philip K. Dick who believed that history stopped in the first century A.D. the Roman Empire never having ended. Though less refined on this song, the motif finds its apogee on Black Ships Ate the Sky from 2006 where his conjuration of Caesar as Antichrist reaches tangible perfection.
The disc also brings four songs recorded in Tokyo and originally intended for release on a Japanese album that was never completed. In my opinion the lyrics for “At the Blue Gates of Death” are where David began to tap into his authentic voice as a poet, though the first version of the song is cluttered and suffers from the extra noise. The children singing in the background are interesting but his penchants for using their voices is used to a more satisfying effect on All The Pretty Little Horses. The bass guitar, played backwards, is what muddles up the mix, taking attention away from the words, which are the songs strength. His voice is also less sure of itself than it seems on “At the Blue Gates of Death (Before and Beyond Them).” In the second when he sings along to a simpler accompaniment of guitar and Rose’s vocal harmonies he is at his most vulnerable, and his most durable, which makes it all the more endearing. It is a song that I have returned to again and again over the years. The symbolism and allegory that I’ve come to expect from David are all present, but here he is more accessible because he has let the guard of overly cryptic lyrics down.
The closing “The Dreammoves of the Sleeping King” is a great example of the combined genius arrived at when Steve Stapleton and David work together. Again, the music shares methods of working and common motifs that pop up repeatedly throughout Current 93’s discography. This twenty-minute barrage of somnolent madness is quite similar to that heard on Faust. Both contain the voices of children reading fragmentary bits of the Lord’s Prayer, as if it alone would protect them from the nightmarish and otherworldly forces the sounds invoke. Melted they smear across the audio spectrum in hazy blurs of thickly swathed vibrato. Ever malleable, it contains moments that appeal to both my darker and more whimsical sensibilities. Stapleton and Tibet had this material in mind for a film they wanted to make about the land where dreams go to when they die. The film was never made, and some of the other music for it, as yet unreleased, still remains lurking in their archives.
Pictured on the cover and in the inlay are colorful photographs of a strange cast of characters: Rose Macdowall, Tony Wakeford, Douglas P., Ian Read, John Balance, Tibet, Steve Stapleton, Diana Rogerson, and children. As I started to trace David Tibet’s influences and the various connections making up his musical family tree I was initiated into a whole new world of listening, and of literature. The music on this disc opened me up and in the process I was transformed. In 2005 the Free Porcupine Society reissued the original six tracks in a limited vinyl run. It would be nice to see the 12 songs from the CD reissued, remastered, repackaged and remixed. I’m sure some related material could also be scrounged up for inclusion. David and his friends at Coptic Cat have already done so with a number of other albums from Current 93’s extensive back catalogue. Earth Covers Earth deserves the same lavish treatment.
samples:
- Hour Glass (For Diana)
- At The Blue Gates of Death (Before And Beyond Them)
- The Dreammoves of the Sleeping King
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Leaf
I was introduced to Murcof's work with last year's Utopia single and I was hoping that the follow up album to that would be as good as the single promised. With Remembranza,Murcof does not disappoint. It's difficult to say where this musicwould fall in record bins filed by genre, but what matters is thatregardless of the conventions of the particular slice of the musicalspectrum that Murcof is working in, he manages to fill his songs withdepth and atmosphere. Remembranza is full of distant, reverbsoaked pianos, suspensful string arrangements that hang in the air likesmoke in a dark, shady pub, and autoclave-cleaned beats that nearlyfall into minimal techno rhythms, but rarely serve as the impetus fordance. The result plays out like techno noir made for headphones ratherthan dancefloors. This is music for murder mysteries and hardenedgumshoes and crazy dames, but it's all controlled so precisely that itnever evokes a real, urgent sense of dread. People notusually won over by the abstraction and detachment of clicky minimalistelectronica should find that Remembranza supplies enough clicksand pings and muted thumps to stand in for that style, while it alsoprovides the emotional backdrop of a film score or well-orchestratedpop music. I'd love to hear this record with some sultry, bluesy vocalsover it. As is, it's still a wonderful piece of deep listening moodmusic just waiting for a film to be shot to go with it.
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Plop
Although Fenton creator Dan Abrams is from California, this disc comes all the way from Japan, by way of theJapanese label Plop. It's a record formorning listening: every song feels like a beginning of sorts to ajourney that is never exactly spelled out or completed. The songs arebuilt up from loops of pristine guitar plucking and the artifacts of along, long delay time. While I see music like this played out all thetime by folks with a single guitar and a loop pedal, it’s obvious thatAbrams is not just knocking these tunes out in a matter of minutes andrendering them to tape. There isn’t much to the compositions,but they grow organically, and they are finely balanced and carefully mixedto reward deep listening. A disc like this finds me willing to acceptit differently at different times.
Without the time and solitudenecessary to devote complete attention to Pup, the recordbecomes a pleasant background texture to my day, but something that isultimately not recognizable or distinguished. Given an hour to sit downwith headphones or near field monitors, the record plays altogetherdifferently and the subtle layers of sound never get boring becausethere is almost always something else to explore. At other times, whenI want to concentrate but can’t, I imagine that Pup isthe basis of another record somewhere with drums and voices and a bandusing simple looped guitar as a foundation rather than the focus.
This is the nature of music like this, and why it’s so hard for me withmy schedule to get into it fully. I suspect that the tensionthere is exactly why music like this needs to exist: to give us areason to slow down, zone out, and bathe ourselves in microscopic beadsof sound. I only wish that were possible more often.
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Karaoke Kalk
Also on the short side—but decidedly not as fun—is the third album from French musician, vocalist and poet Toog. The record is intended to be a modern variation on Poems For Lou, a book written during World War I by poet and soldier Guillaume Apollinaire who was inspired by a woman named Lou that he loved and lost in Nice before the war. In Toog's version, the role of the muse is played by actress Asia Argento, and WWI is replaced by the war and terrorism of the post-9/11 world. It's impossible for me to verify if Toog's words truly reflect these themes, as aside from two pieces that are sultrily spoken by Argento, all of the readings are in French, a language that I remember very little of from my lessons of many years ago. At least the music, which is produced by French sound artist Digiki, is generally quite nice, mixing together elements of downtempo electro & ambient with low-key pop & hip-hop, and even some hints of industrial, classical and cabaret. Given the strong poetic theme of the work, however, it's quite obvious that without some understanding of the words, listeners just won't get the full message that Toog is trying to convey in the 10 tracks on 'Lou Etendue'.
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