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Richard Kamerman, "Prophethead"
Kamerman finds the vein and plots a course for the dark arterial parts that elude many other artists. These two pieces are messily organic noise improvisational / compositional voyages that map out the kind of areas that is often alluded to but rarely visited.
Curor
The screeching base of the CDR’s thirty minute opener, "For Sarah Schwartz—the Black Horse Troop was the Fairest of the Fair," hides a prayer call style loop inside the twitchy layers. Within the primitive high end noise factor lays the strong idea of some form of field recording with a moving undercurrent of hothouse air. The building heat-sucking beat built from a sweat soaked wobble board drives the piece in endless circuits building uneven pressure and overt tension. Occasionally splitting this is a lizard’s tail whip (an organic sound with digital edges) which in its trail leaves the expectation of unexpected sounds around the next corner.
The screeching base of the CDR’s thirty minute opener, "For Sarah Schwartz—the Black Horse Troop was the Fairest of the Fair," hides a prayer call style loop inside the twitchy layers. Within the primitive high end noise factor lays the strong idea of some form of field recording with a moving undercurrent of hothouse air. The building heat-sucking beat built from a sweat soaked wobble board drives the piece in endless circuits building uneven pressure and overt tension. Occasionally splitting this is a lizard’s tail whip (an organic sound with digital edges) which in its trail leaves the expectation of unexpected sounds around the next corner.
The fluttering sawing motion leaves tiny shifts and fluctuations in the sound, sometimes steady and sometimes drifting. Brief passages of acoustic plucking move under the ridged and ribbed soundscapes. The near industrial vibe of these steadier movements adds to the darker aspects in Kamerman’s palette. Even with this muffled march the music around it is hacked and Stanley knifed into grey ribbons of whispery percussion; a berserk remote control parade.
"Freedback 1 (Waverley Place)," the second shorter piece, reveals a more delicate but more unsettling closer miced affair. There's an unpleasant delicacy in the frequencies that seems to scratch at balance and awareness when played extremely loud. The long high whines could be construed as creepy but instead appear more like the audible radar surveying the area. The slide of signals back and forth becomes either a wash of breezes or a painful drill or combined and relatively harmless tones.
