Facture April Edition by Dan Crossley

FACTURE APRIL/2011

JOHANN JOHANNSSON The Miners’ Hymns Power… Is there any geopolitical issue more intractable, any economic or environmental question more omnipresent? Our homes and places of business require warming, our iceboxes need cooling, our purchases must be transported, our nighttime endeavors must be lit. Yet the extraction of energy resources is a complicated, dirty, often dangerous business, which — not incidentally — pays quite well. Interests converge or conflict, difficult questions are put aside for the next election cycle, and physical, sometimes ecological violence results. Or worse. Our lot today is the sum of all choices heretofore; choices that were made under different assumptions, outdated value structures. The expression “carbon footprint” is, in historical terms, quite new, so it is probably fair to assume that the flooding of Maldives was not a primary concern throughout the Industrial Revolution. OPEC is a similarly recent phenomenon. A new film — which debuts at the Tribeca Film Festival in Lower Manhattan — addresses a notinsignificant component of the energy question: coal. Specifically the history of coal mining in Northeast England, the affiliated labor movement, and the eventual strike of 1984. Coal is a resource that is conspicuously out-of-favor now, a fact not lost on filmmaker Bill Morrison, who drew from a century’s worth of archival black-and-white footage, depicting cycles that “repeated decade after decade – political rallies, going to work, in the mine, going home, playing, organizing, fighting, and ultimately celebrating at the Big Meeting in Durham.” London-based production agency Forma commissioned the film, and Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson provided the score. It is named The Miners’ Hymns. The film looks to be awe-inspiring. It bears mention here that this is a “documentary with no narration, dialogue or sound effects, only music.” The 52-minute score

provides the only audio for this 52minute film. Regular Fluid Radio readers should already be familiar with Jóhann Jóhannsson, and for those who aren’t, the prefix “Icelandic composer” is likely reason enough to listen. Jóhannsson has received awards for soundtracks to Varmints (2010) and Dís (2004), and his traditional releases have received wide acclaim. Even still, he is unnecessarily obscure. (As is too often the case with lesser-known talents, the inclusion of his music in a current blockbuster film seeks to correct this.) The soundtrack’s one-sheet states how “The Miners’ Hymns project was initially commissioned for Durham County Council’s ‘Brass: Durham International Festival’, which incorporated the Durham Miners’ Gala into a programme celebrating the culture of mining and the strong regional tradition of brass bands.” Jóhannsson paid homage to this tradition with a 16-piece brass ensemble, including members of the NASUWT Riverside Band. Pieces open tentatively with pipe organ: hushed notes, wisely chosen. Then the occasional swell of dissonance and the occasional eruption of what must be all of those instruments at once. One deft and immediate touch is a non-musical one: the movements take their titles from bulky union rallying cries, such as “An Injury To One Is The Concern Of All,” and “Industrial And Provident, We Unite To Assist Each Other.” Jóhannsson has named the opening piece “They Being Dead Yet Speaketh,” and indeed this is a hushed, moving tribute, barely audible in its opening moments, some measures swelling in voice from single organ to ensemble, others resembling the desolate trumpet solos of military ceremonies. This is likely no accident, as Jóhannsson cites John Philip Sousa as an early musical favorite.

The most powerful movement is the last, and this is certainly by design, but the composing is delicious throughout. “Injury” is a long and haunted piece, clocking in at over 14 minutes, at times made up with symphonic noise, or metallic, cinematic clamor. Yet most of the piece is restrained, slow, unerringly modern. “Freedom From Want And Fear” is halting, cascading, featuring waves of melody and stretches of calm. The composer’s passion is evident, and it is not about coal. Titles such as “There Is No Safe Side But The Side Of Truth” are explanation enough. The Miners’ Hymns closes with triumph, which is odd, given the subject matter. A quietly organic, nearly absonant arrangement tapers off to reveal an elegant French horn riff. The movement is called “The Cause Of Labour Is The Hope Of The World,” and indeed the composition is long on optimism. Near the midpoint “Cause” begins a bold ascent toward a chilling finale, a massive architectural drawing built of one brief, beautiful line at a time. Historical consistencies aside, brass was always the only possible choice, here. Strings would have been too elegant for the subject matter, percussion too regimented. Brass has a natural, jagged texture that seems as if it will fit the film like second skin. Coal may be the furthest thing from clean, sustainable fuel. Solar power, however expensive or fledgling, does not trap men under the ground in collapsed mine shafts. But a tiny amount of coal produces a remarkable level of energy. The soundtrack to this brief film burns in rather the same way. This is oldschool power, and it delivers a prodigious heat. - Fred Nolan

LUUP

Meadow Rituals The brainchild of flautist Stelios Romaliadis, Lüüp gathers some 19 members including Greg Haines, Andria Degens and Van Der Graaf Generator’s David Jackson. No two tracks on their latest release, Meadow Rituals, feature the same combination of performers which lends the album a somewhat compilation like feel, yet the eight pieces are all tied together by the central theme, reflecting the reunion of man and nature.

The stately drama of ‘Taurokathapsia’ provides a similarly folkish leaning, yet contains a much more ceremonial feel, almost processional in nature, providing a sharp contrast with the ethereal flow of ‘Cream Sky’. Spanning over 12 minutes, the layered flutes and vocals of ‘Spiraling’ are interspersed with fragmented guitar motifs, their slightly percussive nature adding a gentle rhythmic pattern to tie the drifting melodic lines together.

Featuring the delicate vocals of Lisa Isaksson, ‘Horse Heart’ provides a stunningly understated opening. The gentle use of multiple time signatures gives a polyrhythmic feel, maintaining the listeners’ interest where others would have settled into a neat 4/4 pattern. The bowed double bass motif, crossing the beat, creates a sense of disrupted time, again throwing the listener off course, never quite settling in one place for long.

From the 70s soundtrack infused minimalism of ‘Roots Growth’ to the experimental sparseness of ‘See You in Me’ and the Stravinsky-esque orchestration of ‘Ritual of Apollo and Dionysus’, the listener is taken on many a journey through musical boundaries. Written and performed by Romaliadis, closing track ‘Northern Lights’ provides a beautifully light-hearted piece of layered flutes, building to a joyous

crescendo before dying away into the ether. As a collection of ‘rituals’, with each one representing something different, the flow of this album is not always easy; the contrast between tracks can take a while to get used to, but familiarity of course closes those gaps. From immersive vocal harmonies to new age drifting and neo-expressionism, Meadow Rituals covers some serious ground and is well worth investigating. - Katie English

KABOOM KARAVAN Barra Barra

With an increase in noteworthy ambient/experimental releases as of late, Belgium appears to have a somewhat under-appreciated art scene and in addition to unmissable works from relocated French musician Felicia Atkinson and psychedelic outfit Magdalena Solis, Kaboom Karavan offers yet more fine music from the multicultural low country. Led by the enigmatic Bram Bosteels, Kaboom Karavan released debut album Short Walk With Olaf on Mexican imprint Umor Rex. Their latest full length is to be released on Miasmah and is a work comprising an unsettling mixture of chaotic and sinister sounds. Bosteels and his band of collaborators have brought to life music steeped in surrealism which brings to mind This Heat’s classic album Deceit, but crossed with something different and yet more dark, like a musical version of cult television show The League Of Gentlemen. The album, indeed each track within Barra Barra, weaves together many threads of sound and, occasionally, melodies, so that it is difficult for one to follow what instrument is being played most of the time. Opener Lentetooi is centred around a tune worthy of a child’s musical box, but this is offset with sinister mutterings, arranged with flute and strings in a method as to invoke a gleeful discomfort. Following piece Koboi is centred around relaxed guitar riffing in a slow and awkward rhythm. As the key refrain repeats again and again, the background is taken up by field recordings of indeterminate source, adding a texture and depth to a track which, if stripped down to just guitar, would be very minimal. Moving ahead a few tracks, the atmospheric Parka is more heavily led by captured sounds and the way in which they are employed brings to mind something of Graham Lambkin & Jason Lescalleet. It’s a beautiful piece and again highlights Kaboom Karavan’s knack for creatively bringing together many elements in a way which is anything but typical. Though one cannot tell from listening how large the input of the talented collaborators is, the cohesion of Barra Barra hints toward Bram Bosteels maintaining an overriding vision. This vision is unique and compelling, another gem in the excellent Miasmah catalogue and a must for those searching for the ever-elusive ‘something different’. - Adam Williams

FELICIA ATKINSON Les Bois Rouges

Currently based in Brussels, Belgium, Félicia Atkinson is a French musician, artist and writer who is making an increasing impact in experimental music circles as of late. Though release dates do not always correspond with the order in which they were written, Les Bois Rouges was released by Unread Records just prior to The Driver and is a fitting prequel to the acclaimed Hibernate Recordings album. Opening with Salinger, the guitar is awash in reverb and, as Félicia slowly plays single notes, she follows a path which will be familiar to existing fans, but from a slightly different perspective. Her guitar is less focused here and more prone to meandering, but it also opens up an increased possibility for experimentation, with results that are often breathtaking, as on The Sorcerer. Individual notes seem unimportant, rather it is the atmosphere created from the culmination of these notes that transforms sound into art. On This Impermanent Gold, Atkinson unveils vocal harmonies to great effect and though many likewise artists have struggled to successfully join voice and ambience, Atkinson does so with an ease which hints at possible further exploration in future releases. Les Bois Rouges sees Atkinson again reiterating her place as a major and innovative talent. Containing a heady mixture of minimalism and ambient wanderings, it would be all too easy to miss that a significant element of Atkinson’s genius lies in playing as little as possible in order to convey a mood, ensuring a minimal human presence and thus making an organic and immersive listening experience. Les Bois Rouges is released on cassette from Unread Records, though readers are advised to note that while the label’s online shop appears to be functioning, Unread Records is on temporary hiatus. - Adam Williams

HAUSCHKA

Salon Des Amateurs

RICHARD MOULT Celestial King For A Year Following the release of Ethe on Deadslackstring last year, composer, painter and poet Richard Moult returns with Celestial King For A Year, this time making his debut on Second Language Music. Currently based in rural Scotland, Newcastle-born Moult is an artist with a prolific musical catalogue and has taken part in various bands and ensembles, such as Irish psychedelic folk band United Bible Studies and Dorset experimentalists Plinth. Appearing here solo, Celestial King For A Year takes its name from a poem of Moult’s and originally began life intended for a string quintet, eventually being stripped into three pieces of stirring neo-classical ambience. When composing the album, Moult was driven to create a work both

spiritual and spacious, drawing inspiration from a Christian chant which goes back to the venerable faith’s earliest origins, named Old Roman. He achieves both goals and within three tracks and thirty five minutes, Moult imbues in even the most atheistic listener a sense of the fear and hope surely felt by those generations of people who lived lives as hard as they were short, gathering in the darkness of post-empire Rome to find small relief in the spiritualistic rituals of Christ. The project is split into three sections and opens with emotive strings, heavy in atmosphere. The moments pass quickly until somewhere in the second movement, when field recordings are joined to superb vocal harmonies of gentle contentment. This audial Eden is eventually replaced by sound more akin to

Dante’s Inferno and pleasure is supplanted with passion and pain, expressed by vocals haunting in their timbre. The journey then closes with a final number of subdued melancholic lament, the longest of the trio. Once again, Richard Moult has created an atmospheric album of rare beauty, executed with subtlety and taste. Considering the limited availability typical of the artists’ releases, one is well advised to avoid missing out on this fine work. Celestial King For A Year comes limited to 300 copies in a bespoke hand-made envelope with painted postcard. - Adam Williams

THE

CLIMBER

KYLE BOBBY DUNN The Facts Raw

“Of at least equal importance with his entertainer’s cap was the jester’s function as adviser and critic. This is what distinguishes him from a pure entertainer who would juggle batons, swallow swords, or strum on a lute or a clown who would play the fool simply to amuse people. The jester everywhere employed the same techniques to carry out this delicate role, and it would take an obtuse king or emperor not to realize what he was driving at, since other court functionaries cooked up the king’s facts for him before delivery; the jester delivered them raw.”

Kyle Bobby Dunn’s forthcoming album “Ways Of Meaning”, to be released by Desire Path on vinyl in May, is a glacial six-song opus; a sweeping and moving meditation on distant memory, delivered lyrically with articulate guitar and organ arrangements. It is also, when listened to with a certain set of ears, profoundly melancholic. This forlorn element may give some the impression of a deeply morose artist plotting a dramatic and serious course through minimalist 21st century drone. This landscape is unfortunately by nature vastly overpopulated. In many cases, by verbose dilettante hipsters spitting out 28-minute slowed down recordings of children’s toys, demanding them to be regarded as valid artistic expression; spoilt white kids playing with expensive music software on top of the line Macs bought by rich parents. Dunn is not one of those dilettantes.

In person he is at odds with this stereotype, and will take every opportunity to dispel it – quick to puncture any bubble in a line of thought that might end in an assumption of pretension, even if the line is not headed in that direction. He acts as the witty and acerbic jester to the potentially pompous second life he seems to feel his music may have in the eyes of others, even if that is not the case. In the same way an astute jester might be able to change the atmosphere of a palace in mourning, when questioned on the elements that make up his music he continually deflects overt comparisons between his many listed classical influences, instead likening his work in part to pop music or formative cinematic influences like the 80’s film The Hitcher. Likening Dunn to the cliché of a comic courtier might seem totally inappropriate, but the image that I’m trying to convey here is not disrespectful. Far from mockery, it

strikes me more than once in talking to him that a number of modern institutions could benefit from having a similar accompanying commentary, deflating the grandiose oxygen from their press. It also distinguishes him as an essentially humble and rational human being, not given to hyperbole. Someone releasing deeply moving material close to them, dredging pivotal personal recollections from the looking glass of memory and laying them out flat like book-pressed flowers, behavior fundamentally conflicting with a self deprecatory, modest and unassuming nature. Writ large, the core role of the jester was to contextualize the things brought before the king with satire and mockery. This is what Dunn does when discussing his music, although perhaps more with humility than anything else, the jester delivering the facts raw.

“An individual court jester in Europe could emerge from a wide range of backgrounds: an erudite but nonconformist university dropout, a monk thrown out of a priory for nun frolics, a jongleur with exceptional verbal or physical dexterity, or the apprentice of a village blacksmith whose fooling amused a passing nobleman.”

Certain pop music and its ‘influence’ has come sort of unconsciously over the years. My parents both listened to country pop music – as much as I hated it, I have to say it lent itself into my sounds over the years in some haunting way.

How long did the album take to record? KBD: I’d been conjuring some of its themes since 1999 – believe it or not – but the entire recording process only took about 6 months. All was recorded at this place Bunce Cake in downtown Brooklyn. Is Bunce Cake a studio, or a performance space? KBD: Studio equipped with a bedroom, fridge, food and stench. It’s basically a desk and computer, viewing and listening space, bed, coffee machine and kitchen with a separate room containing a toilet and shower. It’s been close to me for some time. What was your process in deconstructing the sounds on the record? KBD: Deconstructing? Does it really sound that way? I mainly tried to structure the songs without added layers or overdubs – using guitar. There is one more quiet organ suite. I am trying more to build on this record then simply lay flat out, like on older things. To be honest with you, I’m not sure how to describe it. I understand they’re guitar and organ but I’m not able as a layman to identify sound. I’m curious how that sound is achieved? KBD: It’s just a nice tone or sound that starts with me sitting down at the guitar or organ and playing it through some processors and things. These are songs as much as people would probably argue they aren’t. To me they are and follow a sort of general song formula if that makes sense. The idea of a song formula makes sense. Are you mindful of song structure in general? KBD: A little bit. I admit I have a strange composing technique, but with many of these recordings it

became very simple and more like a song, yes. Since I was too young I’ve been listening to church, choral, classical and early music composers and records – but also had a heart for pop musics and been recording things in more of a pop structure on the side for years. So maybe there is a bit of both in the songs on “Ways of Meaning”. What pop music do you think has had the most influence over you? And are there any composers that had a direct influence over this record in particular? KBD: Certain pop music and its ‘influence’ has come sort of unconsciously over the years. My parents both listened to country pop music – as much as I hated it, I have to say it lent itself into my sounds over the years in some haunting way. My mother used to play it quite loudly sometimes when I lived in a bungalow in Alberta – the way it seeped through the floors was always bassy and its melodies and verses sounded better in its muddied almost watery kind of way. I like structures and concepts of pop music often more than the music itself, so that may be in the sounds of this… I was listening to a lot of Desprez, Léonin, and sacred chant music whilst writing some of the music on the album. But all kinds of things really. I’ve never been directly influenced by an artist or particular style – and as far as I know I don’t compose or create in the same way any of my favorite composers have, I probably never will. What is it about the structures and concepts of pop music that appeal to you? KBD: I suppose the sort of simplicity and personal aspects that most pop songs inhabit or try to. There’s often an essential emphasis on melody and accessibility in pop music that I tried to tap into in my own way. There’s also the inspiration that

comes from a general hatred of pop music in many of these songs… Aside from the obvious, what specifically is it about pop music that you dislike? KBD: Aside from the obvious things in pop (its direct appeal, usually instant catch and contrived nature) I hate the culture and symbolism often involved. The loudness and product pushing sensibilities, the predictability and rush of the mainstream world and notions of recording and touring. I’ve struggled with it and even come to love certain pop music out of disgust. But, I could easily say the struggle and even hatred exists in my own music and that’s a hard truth, but if I sort of hate today’s music world I better be ready to hate my own. That’s another thing I was dealing with while writing and reworking some old themes on this beast – especially on ‘Movement for the Completely Fucked…’ I have a love/ hate relationship in sound processing and making music in general. Why is it love/hate? What is it about doing it that frustrates you? KBD: It’s half impulsive and half a desire to dwell and conjure up old feelings or memories, almost. The most frustrating element is the live thing for my music and some of the pressure. Even this interview is frustrating because I feel I am trying to give some insight or reverence and just failing every step of the way. There have been moments in my compositions I feel right and maybe only I feel right about and then moments that feel a bit forced or exist as uncertainties – that are really no different from my own confusion in reality and time. I guess it doesn’t matter if I continue making music or not. Nobody would care either way.

I’m interested in your mention of uncertainties – you mention them in relation to your music; do you mean an uncertainty in how your music will develop, or how it has developed in specific places? KBD: It’s really the uncertainties that might make it possible to keep working or contextualizing in music. It’s like life situations in the way that they may be good or bad things – and they develop just like a person develops. Maybe I am an unfortunate case, as I am not sure I have really developed too much since I began composing and recording. What pieces are you most happy with, in that context? KBD: Ones that stand out are usually available on releases. I still feel ‘Young Person’s Guide’ is a good introduction or essential into my work. I may feel the closest to those pieces as I spent so much time with them… I think I was most satisfied and moved with the results I achieved minimally on ‘The Nightjar’ from that album. I am pretty happy with how some of the waves and emotions of existential bliss might have come through on ‘Movement for the Completely Fucked’ and ‘Tuohy’s Theme.’ What would you say is your primary motivation for making music? What motivates you to keep at it, given your antagonistic relationship to the process? KBD: I don’t really have a motivation. In fact some of the music probably most definitely crawls from a lack of motivation in many things in my life, music aside. Certainly the prospect of having my music released as products on labels has stirred my mind about getting out and playing live and even touring (which I haven’t really extensively tried yet), but a motivation to continue my recordings as Kyle Bobby Dunn? – I have no idea. There’s certainly no financial gain or even pressure to record an album and I’m not after anything in particular. It simply reassures some personal and creative notions and is also a strange way of expressing ideas and communicating them the best I can with the limited things I can do musically. I keep at it because it’s what I’ve done for years and just makes sense. I like who I get to work with at times and sometimes the feelings I get are

those I’ve felt in the past – and that’s really when I feel I’ve done my job – if I can conjure up that old emotion or feel in the sound… But my mind on music and my relationship to it has gone through so many different incantations over the years… I can’t tell if it’s had a positive or negative effect on me, or anyone. I know that I quite possibly hate more music and what it stands for and how it works than I like any of it. Do you feel that uncertainty you mention reflected in modern life across the board? I’ve spoken to a more than a few artists who feel that reflecting that uncertainty back in their music is beneficial to them. Do you feel this is what you’re doing, or is it a more personal thing? KBD: It is something reflected on this recording, for sure. In context with my personal suppression from society and overall alienated mood from music and people – I don’t know that amplifying it and analyzing it in sound is beneficial or even very healthy. I think I’ve actually developed health problems from being someone who makes music. Both mentally and physically. Nor is it easy to share with anyone else. Are there particular memories that shape this record? KBD: Yes of course. Some of the titling of its songs should help with that from my side. Some of it is deeply rooted in my early adolescent and childhood years. Some is just a general present reflection on myself, and the world in which we live. I definitely find, in listening back to my work, it’s easier to reflect on certain resonances of my memory and, even if it sounds quite silly, feel things a bit more. You mention recalling or digging up events in memory as starting points for material – do you see the process as cathartic? KBD: Not so much. Sometimes I wish it were because I’m not getting a release per se from my music. It’s a lot more like a dwelling in time, for me. When something comes back in time to me, it often is this kind of starting point for the composition – and I spend a lot of time reflecting the sounds off the memory or vice versa. I try and resurrect the demons in a way, but that means going in and trying to find all the intricacies and things connected with the

memory of someone or some place in time. Some songs on the “Ways of Meaning” record are more like flirtations and just immediate feelings rather than dwellings. ‘Statuit’ and ‘Movement for the Completely Fucked’ really represent large chunks of time and feelings but not one exact thing, like ‘Tuohy’s Theme’ or older recordings like ‘Butel’ and ‘The Tributary.’ How did the record come to its home at Desire Path? KBD: Michael Vitrano expressed an interest in working together and suggested that the music should arrive as a vinyl release, which I very much saw for this. If you could give the listener guidance for how to approach your music, for example, explain how a piece has developed, formed, and the context it was meant to be listened to in, would you want to? Or would you prefer it to stand on its own with no explanation? KBD: Well I have had to explain too much about myself and music recently – but unless someone asks me to explain a certain song and its title, I’d rather not try and douse someone in my past and weird context attached with everything. If someone feels it – they feel it, and that’s fine. I don’t feel a lot of music so I could certainly understand why nobody gets mine. For me, I know what’s there and it either brings a layer of sadness or warmth to me. Sometimes both. How do you feel your sound has developed since your last, “A Young Person’s Guide…”? KBD: Well on this recording, there is a lot taken out and a focus on more simplicity. Stripping out some unnecessary voices and elements. I think it all comes from a similar place and process methodology but its more direct and there’s been less time overanalyzing and mulling things around in my mind. The blunt of “Young Person’s Guide” was written between 2004-2006, so quite some time has passed and maybe allowed me to reconsider things.

When you talk about stripping out unnecessary voices and elements, what are you referring to? KBD: Some of the effects and washes that appear in past material are gone. I tried to refine the fuzz and grain a bit to compliment the sounds more, maybe. I’ve had too much stuff come out in odd formats since 2006 or so. I started a CDr thing back then to put out some half baked guitar mutations for some reason, and then immediately following that crap was this Kning Disk release (some Swedish label) that featured more harsher days, hectic winter songs, compositions for humming rooms and that sort of guitar configuration process I was working on in between writing music for strings and piano based music. It’s funny how many things I seem to be working on and how it’s all pretty estranged in a way. I even told myself after “Young Person’s Guide” came out last year that it was time to put things away and rest for some time… that hasn’t been the case. I’m drawn to the frustrations of my work more than ever and that’s hard cause I don’t know where I’ll wind up. You mention spending a lot of time with the tracks from “Young Person’s Guide”, and you also mention that some of the material from “Ways Of Meaning” had it’s

genesis from over a decade ago. It sounds like there’s a fairly protracted process with working up the material?

You mentioned letting go of methods in the recording of “Ways Of Meaning”, and I was curious what those methods were.

KBD: Yeah it’s kind of been a modus operandi in the amorphous world of Kyle Bobby Dunn over the last several years. A lot of what I work on relies on time and memory. It seems as I age I recall or dig up past events and things that stick out in my mind become almost like a starting point in the creating and composing process.

KBD: I guess just certain arrangements and obvious instrumentation has been dropped. I also didn’t spend as much time on the songs as I did on “Young Person’s” … mainly because of the effect I was hoping to achieve with the simplicity of the guitar tones and organ. Someone might argue that these are lacking definition because of the short amount of time spent on some of it. I like to think it reveals a new quality with a different but just as meaningful depth. I just didn’t dwell as much on the songs as I have in the past. - Alex Gibson

“A Young Person’s Guide” began on guitar one frozen morning in North Carolina in about 2004 and dealt with a desire for a warm wooded area or expanse of land and trees – something that had been reoccurring in my dreams for a long time. The album finished in 2009 upon recording ‘Bonaventure’s Finest Hour’ at Bunce Cake studios in Brooklyn. Its themes deal heavily with moments taken from 1998 onwards at the St. Bonaventure Catholic school in Alberta. It’s almost like the further back I can recall or remember, the more sensible it seems to begin recording and processing. Point being, “Ways of Meaning” was nice to just let go of some methods – still thinking about times and places from long ago – but in a more concise, possibly more listenable form musically.

“Jesters are not noted for flattery or fawning. The ruler can be isolated from his courtiers and ministers, who might conspire against him. The jester too can be an isolated and peripheral figure somehow detached from the intrigues of the court, and this enables him to act as a kind of confidant.”

BARN OWL Shadowland

Shadowland is an immutable intonation built upon slowly and carefully placed guitar and piano poignancies that impersonate Eastern classical modalities. A fugue of affected feedback encircles its own natural echoes to give a detached and vague advancement into elegiac electromagnetic eternity.

Down through the centuries the Barn Owl has been recorded in folklore more frequently than any other type of owl. Ancient writings usually frame the Barn Owl with an ominous status undoubtedly because it is a bird of darkness, and darkness often implies the presence of shadows, evil, or perhaps even of death itself. Indeed during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, no doubt aided and abetted by poetic usage of the Barn Owl as a favourite “bird of doom,” many people deemed that the shriek or call of an Owl flying past the window of an invalid would signal impending doom. These mangled myths and troubled tales are now encouraged and exaggerated by the release of “Shadowland”, a new three track EP by Barn Owl. Fluid Radio regulars will no doubt have lapped up the recent esoteric enlightenment on offer from the exhilarating solo albums by the founding fathers of Barn Owl; Jon Porras and Evan Caminiti. Plus the celestial annihilation that radiated from the last release by Higuma, Caminiti’s other side project. And surely no-one could have allowed last year’s storming metallic-drone monster of a soundtrack by Barn Owl, Ancestral Star, to pass under their radar. Opener Void and Devotion sets a mood of menace and cataclysmic spirit with its simple cyclical chord

repetition that is reminiscent of a child’s music box or a gent’s pocket watch, mimicking how its appeal might be manifested in the soundtrack of a horror film or a spaghetti western. Fatalistic low pitched frequencies and contorted vocal chants resonate as a quasireligious synth modulation goes about its evil work. Finally ever increasing rays of warbling guitar vibrancy, which distend and compress the distortion envelope, add a baleful depth and emotion to this catastrophic canticle. Shadowland is an immutable intonation built upon slowly and carefully placed guitar and piano poignancies that impersonate Eastern classical modalities. A fugue of affected feedback encircles its own natural echoes to give a detached and vague advancement into elegiac electromagnetic eternity. Tones, depths and intensities continue to expand as accented guitar and other small insets of sequential strings charge the listener’s chakras with a hypnotic power of mesmerising malignancy. Infinite Reach instantaneously haunts as it does hover, with sumptuous strata of synthesised satellites that wax and wane in orbit around solarised guitar flares to project a crackled lament. After an initial clamour and conflict that has supernatural tendencies, quietude and composure

eventually prevail as continuous transitions and variations in length and vibrancy create guitar pitch paradise. As “Shadowlands” plays out its obscure oscillations, it’s obvious why Tube amplification is currently so in vogue, as it reacts differently from transistor amplifiers when signal levels approach and reach the point of wave form distortion, or clipping as it’s known in professional circles. In a tube amplifier, the transition from linear amplification to limiting is less abrupt than in a solid state unit, which subsequently delivers a less raucous form of distortion at the onset of clipping. This is probably why, many guitarists favour the sound of an all-tube amplifier; the artistic merits of tube versus solid state amps, though, continue to be a fiercely contested topic of debate amongst serious guitarists and music fans alike. Dean Rocker

MOUNTAINS Air Museum

Does the push-and-pull of these divergent tendencies – music for nightclubs and music for campfires – show through in the finished product? Absolutely. Their technique is prodigious: electric guitar, cello, harmonium, harmonica, accordion, piano, and Anderegg’s acoustic six-string all line up as pre-production sources.

We take our word “photography” from the Greek graphos and photos, i.e. “painting” and “light.” If photography is painting with light, Mountains’ forthcoming Air Museums is likely the most photographic album we will hear in 2011. Mountains are Brendon Anderegg and Koen Holtkamp, co-founders of Apestaartje Records. Each maintains a solo catalog, recording as Anderegg and Aero respectively. The musician-mogul template seems to be getting a fair amount of use lately, but this eclectic pairing precludes any clichés: Holtkamp favors Brian Eno and musique concrète, and claims not to be “a trained musician of any sort.” He describes Anderegg as “more the proper musician,” who, prior to attending the Art Institute of Chicago, played acoustic guitar and listened to folk music. Does the push-and-pull of these divergent tendencies – music for nightclubs and music for campfires – show through in the finished product? Absolutely. Their technique is prodigious: electric guitar, cello, harmonium, harmonica, accordion, piano, and Anderegg’s acoustic six-string all line up as pre-production sources. Tireless refurbishing, stretching, compressing, mixing, and adding the myriad of effects renders the sources unidentifiable … except for the acoustic guitar. Take some of the tracks from their acclaimed

2009 Choral, say, “Map Table,” to name one. The delicate droneand-guitar sheen verges toward the cosmic brittleness of New Age music, at times uncomfortably so. By this measure, Air Museum is a significant departure for Mountains. The one-sheet confirms it, describing a fairly significant course correction: “the album manifests itself sonically as their most ‘electronic’ record yet. Air Museum is also their first record that was made in a studio. Working in the studio expanded their possibilities, giving more room for experimentation.” The experiments have paid off. The tinkering begins with “January 17.” A succulent organ effect gradually fades in, then the tasty, down-yonder machine oscillations do, and at 90-seconds in the central theme of the opening track is introduced: a full-bodied ambient composition with a thick drone undercoat, virtual orchestration, a whipping and cyclical synth effect, and the sound of captains-log encryption. (For a project named Mountains, there is much more space than there is acreage.) There are no drumsticks, except possibly in the chicken dinners. There are no voices, save maybe for those stretched and textured beyond recognition. The acoustic guitar takes the day off, returning only for a beautiful, final-minute encore during “Live at the Triple Door.”

Put your money on the second cut, “Thousand Square,” which continues the infinity-and-beyond motif, with a pulsing, spacebeacon backbone and strobe light casing. The original sources may be “cello, accordion, piano, bass etc.,” but you’ll never divine which medium is positioned behind what message, and it really doesn’t matter, either. The output is warm and luminous, regardless of how many circuits through which the signal had to pass. Indeed, paradoxically, electronic music’s natural tendency toward coldness seems completely reversed here. Digitally. One lasting impression is, strangely enough, that of a late 70s tribute. What will likely come off as the most conventional track is “Backwards Crossover.” Here is a naggingly homesick piece that reenters the atmosphere with a lightweight clean-tone interplay (both forward and reversed), found sounds nearly clipped down to their 0s and 1s, laser tag exchanges, and sundry other, tiny sound manipulations. Anderegg and Holtkamp may make all of this seem effortless, but something says that Air Museum is the result of endless crafting and re-crafting, vision and revision. This is not an album of beats and hooks, but of studies in texture. - Fred Nolan

UNDER EXPOSED

ANTONYMES

LOST IN

WAVES OF LIGHT

ESMERINE La Lechuza

Esmerine introduce their first album in six years, and with expanded membership: Sarah Page (The Barr Brothers) and Andrew Barr (Land of Talk, The Barr Brothers) join founding members Bruce Cawdron and Beckie Foon. All mutual friends of Montreal vocalist Lhasa de Sela, the four came together after the singer’s untimely death on January 1, 2010, at age 37. As tributes go, the opening moments here are whimsical and kinetic, with an uptempo marimba line and optimistic string arrangement. The track is named “A Dog River,” and the currents implied by that title are unmistakable: the fabric of overlaying cello melodies, the swelling momentum, the parallel measures of loss and perseverance. Constellation Record’s announcement credits Colin Stetson as a guest contributor to “A Dog River,” although his renown saxophone playing is only evident in subtle bursts of bass accent, during the denouement of the piece. Thus Esmerine introduce their first album in six years, and with expanded membership: Sarah Page (The Barr Brothers) and Andrew Barr (Land of Talk, The Barr Brothers) join founding members Bruce Cawdron and Beckie Foon. All mutual friends of Montreal vocalist Lhasa de Sela, the four came together after the singer’s untimely death on January 1, 2010, at age 37. The new album is La Lechuza, and the memorial is most evident in “Snow Day For Lhasa,” and “Fish On Land.” The former track features the touching countertenor vocals of Patrick Watson, who recorded much of the album for Esmerine in his loft. The string prologue absolutely shimmers, like

sunlight on ice (the title of the song is literal, as Montreal received snow for four days after de Sela’s death). This voice and harp pairing is tragic, halting, the heavy mood in the studio clearly palpable. The latter of these two tracks is haunting, literally: “Fish On Land” features de Sela herself, recorded with Cawdron and Foon, in a previously unreleased song. The desperate, often trembling cello work goes alongside de Sela through a frightening dream narrative, which should be heard, not read. Even so, a preview is fitting: “I had a dream last night, of a fish on land…. Is life like this for everyone? I picked him up, he had a human face.” Devastating. But La Lechuza is not all heartbreak. “Trampolin” carries the scent of the far east with its curious, shuffling mid-tempo dance of maraca, harp, cello and voice. Playful clusters of dissymphony start at the one-minute mark (harp, wind instruments, uncertain others), angular and perfectly textured compositions with a distinctly Forbidden Palace flair. “Sprouts” is similarly eastern, building momentum from Page and Foon’s sparse duet into a downright cheerful composition with a marimba pulse and string palpitations. The art-house dissonance just past the sixminute mark is unexpected, and welcome.

The opening track’s theme of rivers earns a reprise with “Little Streams Make Big Rivers,” and the listener has to wonder if de Sela’s mark on the Montreal music scene — and on the music world at large — was the inspiration for this. It is a magnificent work: brief, psychedelic, with great momentum. An old-school Woodstock saunter breaks into a cosmic sprint, with turbulent violin and saxophone nestled alongside stratospheric cello and battering percussion. Lechuza, Spanish for “owl,” is also a Mexican folk legend telling of a witch who could transform into a bird. Esmerine’s latest offering La Lechuza is an intelligent and meticulous piece of conjuring all its own. Certain pieces are almost too painful to hear, others are alive with color and purpose. Still others, cultured and erudite. La Lechuza succeeds in nearly more ways than we can count, not the least of which are a dazzling collection of talent, a dirge for a departed friend, and a piece of music making with an identity all its own. - Fred Nolan

KRENG Grimoire

Kreng adds a new element to the label’s almost flawless roster, the more theatrical, the jazzier, sexier sound. It is bleak but with swagger, it’s the friction between the elements that give us a look into the magnificent.

Many are perhaps familiar with the concept of dark restaurants. The concept is simple: you walk in utter darkness, wait a bit, eat whatever is served on the plates and leave. Those who have tried it firsthand would tell you of how different the whole thing is; how a simple meal is changed from ordering something one’s already tried and tested over and over again to an event that has its own sense of mystery, how the taste buds become more perceptive, the sense of smell heightened and in the end, apart from a few misplaced forks and knives every now and then, an amazing experience all in all. But what does that have to do with anything? Oddly enough, my experience with this album doesn’t stray too far from that concept. It is very rare these days that a reviewer receives an album without a press release that was probably written by the artist/band’s second cousin, glorifying every single note on the album, making the act of skipping it seem like the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone and giving the listener all sorts of expectations heading into hearing said piece of art. What’s even rarer though, is to get an album without even track titles. Here is where it gets interesting. Listening to an album you know nothing about, by an artist you’ve never heard, no prejudice, subjectivity thrown against the wall. The restaurant thing makes sense now, right? The album’s start leads the listener on, not giving away much at any point in time, revealing its elements and teasing the listeners’

ears one step at a time. It lures the listener in; the vagueness in what would lie ahead is exhilarating. Then almost half way through the second track we start getting an idea of what to expect. Improvised jazzy beats come and go, heavy string chords add tension and leave it to dissipate, then out of nowhere the song coalesces and approaches something not too distant from The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble’s more minimalistic tracks on From the Stairwell only to disappear into the next track. Field recordings, a spine tingling female yelp, more scattered drums, everything meshes together and more importantly flows into each other with such grace that it becomes almost impossible for the listener to remove the headphones for a second and miss any of what’s going on. With every passing track, Pepijn Caudron (Kreng) sheds a new layer of skin to reveal even more of his talent. The fifth track takes us to through the most nerve wrecking journey of them all. The violin samples, which would have been perfect on Miasmah label mate Marcus Fjellström’s Schattenspieler, the background sounds are high pitched, metallic, rough edged and create a wretched path for these violins to walk through. The song goes back and forth until an explosion of industrial percussion destroys everything, an explosion of sound and emotion that would leave even the most cold hearted person standing in silence trying to fathom where this came from, how

unprepared he was for this, and it’s breathtaking. There is music here for the classically inclined, for those who like their jazz slow and doom like, the drone fans, film noir buffs and yet it all sounds so coherent, so natural, with the dimension of time contracting and expanding to fit the moods of the songs. There are always moments of light to break the darkness, always a beat after a long percussion barren section. The guy’s work in theater has definitely done him good, and we are all the luckier for it. In his description of Marcus Fjellström’s “Schattenspieler”, fellow The Silent Ballet reviewer Richard Allen mentioned a “Miasmah sound”, a certain blend of modern classical sounds and thick drones and soundscapes that have come to set the label apart from others and give fans of that sound a consistent flow of records for them to cherish. Kreng adds a new element to the label’s almost flawless roster, the more theatrical, the jazzier, sexier sound. It is bleak but with swagger, it’s the friction between the elements that give us a look into the magnificent. Each track holds a new surprise, it’s an album you can put on forever and never mind pressing that repeat button once it’s done, no singles or standouts and skip button shall never be touched. I walked into this album knowing nothing, and came out with might as well be my most played album in the past month or so and definitely the one that had the most significant effect. Mohammed Ashraf

THE COLLABORATIVE (Recent) History Of Stephen Vitiello

The lesson was always to listen first and foremost. For me, collaboration is a way to communicate with musicians I really admire. It’s also a way to expand on idea and sounds. It’s also social.

Stephen Vitiello’s musical history has quite some depth to it, and an immediately noticeable characteristic of his discography is the collaborative nature of his work. Aside from a number of solo releases on a number of labels, a number of and’s, +’s and &’s appear on his Discogs page.

Mikhail Baryshnikov, his production work, media curatorship or video direction. Suffice it to say that his works are many, and are characterized with the sure hand often seen in the prolific.

After being lucky enough to speak to the man about his recent releases, it soon becomes apparent why; Vitiello views his artistic talent in a very rational and intelligent way, and recognizes the value of growing his musical muscle by exercising the parts he normally can’t reach without the help of another.

How does collaboration shape your work?

Hard to know where to begin cataloguing his work – the audio exhibitions in Paris, Sydney and New York, his residency in the 91st storey of the World Trade Centre in 1999 recording the building’s structural noises after Hurricane Floyd, performances in Germany, San Francisco and London, his compositions for dance used by

When discussing the role of others in his work, Vitiello is circumspect.

SV: Collaboration is a really big part of my work. Not so much the installations, but definitely the CDs and performances. I spent about 10 years making soundtracks for video artists and choreographers (1989-1999). This taught me a lot about communication and looking/ listening. In 1998, I was invited by Anthony Moore in Cologne to participate in a series of concerts. There were four featured composers. Each had their own night but were encouraged to collaborate with the other composers. There was Pauline

Oliveros, Scanner, Frances-Marie Uitti and myself. I was definitely the new kid and also very new to improvisation. In the end, all three became friends, and in some ways mentors. I ended up making records with all three of them. I’m still close with Robin (Scanner) and stay in touch with Pauline whenever possible. Pauline taught me a lot through example. The lesson was always to listen first and foremost. For me, collaboration is a way to communicate with musicians I really admire. It’s also a way to expand on idea and sounds. It’s also social. Particularly, since I moved from NY to Virginia, I miss being part of a group of like-minded musicians and sound artists. Collaborating – whether through the exchange of files, or performing or recording together allows me to feel connected and forced to listen, and hopefully, to grow.

Collaboration is a really big part of my work. Not so much the installations, but definitely the CDs and performances. I spent about 10 years making soundtracks for video artists and choreographers (1989-1999).

What prompted the move to Virginia from New York? SV: I grew up in New York and for most of my life, never thought I’d leave. I moved to Virginia 7 years ago to take a teaching job – Virginia Commonwealth University, Department of Kinetic Imaging. It was really about survival. I have a wife and daughter and just couldn’t support us on the various jobs I had. Also, post 9-11, grants were fewer and fewer. My various means of income were all affected and I just needed to find some stability. Has the new location affected the tone of your output? SV: Since being here, my interest in field recording has definitely increased. Richmond is pretty urban. I’m just a few minutes outside the center and don’t know if I’d call it urban or suburban but you can get to nature very quickly. When I first moved here, I was overwhelmed by my neighbor’s 14 hunting beagles who howled through the day and night. I found recording them was a more positive response than wanting to lose my mind from the noisy chaos of it all. Unfortunately for the listener, these beagle recordings never made it to a CD (ending up instead as a

presumably therapeutic media installation). However, this year sees a number of other recorded projects put out on a number of labels, all of them landing within a short release time of other – “MOSS”, a collaborative CD with Molly Berg, Olivia Block and Steve Roden out on 12k, “Acute Inbetweens” a collaborative CD with Lawrence English out on Cronica, “Birds in a Box” – a collaborative CD with Machinefabriek in an edition of 200 on Nuun and in May a collaborative CD with Mem1 on Dragon’s Eye. “MOSS”, reviewed HERE recently, is a 20-plus minute work of restraint and space with a tactile and organic edge. The sound of the room in the recording is evocative, and is an intelligent addition to the 12k schedule for the year. How did it come to be, and have you worked with the other performers before? SV: I curated 3 nights of concerts for the 01SJ Biennial – a contemporary art/art and technology biennial in San Jose, CA. It was a series of midnight concerts held in a beautiful church. The church was built by a shipbuilder. It’s deep, dark wood and

curved inside. The acoustics were clean and very dry. The first night was Olivia Block. The second night was Steve Roden. The third night was meant to be me and Molly Berg. Molly and I have worked together for a while, on and off. We made a CD for 12k called The Gorilla Variations. Steve and I have been friends for several years. We collaborated on an installation and a concert in Marfa, TX in 2008. Marfa is a really special desert town in Western Texas which has an exhibition center of permanent installations by Donal Judd, Dan Flavin and a small handful of other artists. I’ve been a fan of Olivia’s for several years and gotten to know her a little bit. On the night that Molly and I were to play, we asked Steve and Olivia to join us. The concert started with Molly up in near the bell tower, playing the carillon. I was down in the church, processing the bell sounds and adding others. After that, Olivia and Steve joined us for one long 28-minute improvisation. The piece starts with me on guitar and Molly on clarinet, so we set the tone but otherwise, everyone was free. There was a really nice level of listening and interplay I thought.

How did the location shape the sound? SV: The church definitely affected the performance. The acoustics were so clean and we could really hear ourselves, and each other. Being midnight, with a small, hushed audience, also added to the quiet nature of our performance. How was the church miked up? Did you record the performance any differently to allow for the space, if the performers were located in different places? SV: The setup was really simple – a small Mackie board on a table. Steve and I were going direct into the board, no guitar amps. Molly had a single mic for her voice and clarinet but a lot of what you hear on the CD is the acoustic signal from the clarinet. Olivia was sitting behind us in the dark with small battery powered amplifiers. There was a mix-engineer but for the most part, we were mixing ourselves. I put a really nice set of (Schoeps) microphones a few feet of us and recorded the piece. The recorded is all from the mics. There isn’t any multi-channel material at all.

The 12K site mentioned some noisy passers by that were respectfully quietened – did this affect the performance? SV: Just before the concert started, these guys – drunken revelers, were singing and shouting in the alley outside the church. One of the staff members went out and politely asked them to be quiet or to move on. They did! After the concert a homeless man came in to get warm so I got the feeling the church had a comfortable relationship with the local community, some of which looked pretty dusty. Another recent release (reviewed by Fluid here is “Acute Inbetweens”, an internet collaboration between America and Australia involving Stephen and Room40’s Lawrence English. The collaboration grew out of a shared interest in things technical, and grew from there... Travel seems to be a constant in the narrative. A number of continents pop up on his CV, and a recent trip to the send+receive festival in Winnipeg and Montreal for performances with Machinefabriek also yielded a live CD, “Birds In A Box” being a live recreation of the spirit of 2009’s 12k release “Box Music”. Again,

both artists compiled a box for the other contained non musical (or non functioning musical) objects. The boxes were presented at the start of the concert. Without knowing what would be inside, they improvised with the surprises found in the boxes. The recording of these concerts were edited for release, with an added remix by Ezekiel Honig. Your schedule seems to be pretty demanding, do you travel for music a lot? SV: I travel a lot for exhibitions – sound installations, as well as lectures. On occasions, I travel to perform but most of my invitations come from the art world, or art departments in universities. I don’t tour but in the last year, I was in Australia in May and then again in August. This year, I performed in Cork, Ireland in January and I go back in a few weeks to present an installation and a lecture. I like traveling but it’s hard on my family and hard on my job. A vital artist. All those interested would be well advised to have a good look over his website, as there’s a fair volume on there not covered here, including links to a free compilation download from Dragon’s Eye, “Wood”. - Alex Gibson

JON PORRAS Undercurrent

The eight weighty tracks balance melodic drone with apocalyptic distorted guitar, a balancing act managed with flair and grace – no easy feat when the guitars sound at times like they wouldn’t be out of place in an art metal recording.

“Undercurrent” by Jon Porras is visceral like a coma – epic and dense, and with a similarly allencompassing hold… The eight weighty tracks balance melodic drone with apocalyptic distorted guitar, a balancing act managed with flair and grace – no easy feat when the guitars sound at times like they wouldn’t be out of place in an art metal recording. This is accomplished by pushing the guitars far back in the mix, behind the foreground, like it was hidden behind mist. Like that mist, there’s a space visible close to you, but moving further than one step takes you closer to an unseen space that could lead to anywhere. There seems to be mist and fog around us everywhere, now. Barn Owl, of whom Porras is one half of, speak openly of their love of fog as they relate to it in shoegaze and black metal. Evan Caminiti, the other half, has just completed a project with Lisa McGee called “Pacific Fog Dreams” as Higuma. Keen observers will have noted Lawrence English’s 2008 release “Kiri No Oto” (a Japanese phrase which translates as ‘sound of fog’) has just been rereleased on vinyl. So fog is a reliable muse it seems, especially for those that call San Francisco home, as Caminiti and Porras do. So how does his approach compare to the others? The logical comparative point would be Higuma, as it represents

one branch of the same tree. Whilst Higuma’s releases have a more emotionally oppressive musical characteristic, weighty in tone, Porras has managed to lean on the more melodic side whilst still injecting heft into the sound. Distorted guitars (when used the right way) have an uplifting grandeur and searing immediacy that is unmatched in the musical spectrum, and here they are harnessed in an intelligent and cohesive fashion. The tracks have emotive weight, but the general ambience is one of exhilaration and release. Nowhere would this be better demonstrated than the ten minute behemothic opener ‘Grey Dunes’ – there’s a reassuringly hertz-y foreground clean texture mixed with gutturally distorted guitar chords up the back, leading into an extended organ-esque outro – some faint and mournful angelic delayed tones in the distance give the track a lift out of the gloom, whilst keeping it in character. The guitars are, as you’d expect, recorded magnificently. It’s been mastered and mixed well; some faintly confronting tones hover just at the edge, respectfully bridled not neutered. You can visualize speaker cloth on the front of giant amps wavering furiously inside a dimly lit room, a solitary figure holding absolutely still to keep his guitar feeding back just so…

‘Seascape’ is as the name suggests – an aquatic drone with panning pedal hum morphing into underwater pressure and faint piercing high fretwork. ‘Shore’ returns us to same, amongst deep analogue synth landscape. Deep is the word; the booming bottom end here is doom personified. The tail end is brushed and strummed Eastern reverb chords, with delayed picking amongst the foliage. ‘For ARH’ is searing guitar, behind swirling crystalline drone; segueing into ‘Calm’, a brief and tidal mood setter, contextualizing the preceding and introducing the following ‘Land’s End’. Gaze’ is definitely a winter piece, but also works in bright sunlight. It’s a fitting closer – accessible yet deliberately distant, a bright light through persistent murky haze. “Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term art, I should call it “the Reproduction of what the senses perceive in nature through the veil of the mist” – Edgar Allen Poe. For those interested in strong, effective guitar in drone, “Undercurrent” is textbook soundscaping. Released by Root Strata on LP May 10 in a limited run of 500. - Alex Gibson

JOHN CHANTLER The Luminous Ground

London based Australian musician John Chantler returns with his second full length solo album, The Luminous Ground… Chantler began his musical journey as a drummer and has maintained rhythm for many bands, such as Tenniscoats, Mahe, Outshine Family and The Balky Mule. In addition to his drumming, the versatile artist also contributes to eightperson ensemble Organ Octet, as well as a duo with fellow Australian sound artist Lawrence English named Holy Family. This prolific artist has yet more projects worth exploring but a desire for brevity restricts their being listed at length here. Chantler employs a highly modular custom rig which forms his main tool for composing and recording, using it to create a suitable environment for synths and patches to generate their own sound, which he then manipulates into feedback and noise. Reportedly inspired by the writings of renowned architect Christopher Alexander, the album appears more overtly impacted by a clash of human will over the design of machine. This conflict is present throughout The Luminous Ground and in Chantler’s exploration of it, he blurs all lines between man and machine, joining the two in a symbiotic relationship which paints images of a future defined by technology. The Luminous Ground begins with A1 (subsequent tracks are similarly named) and at first one is greeted by busy, glitchy computer tones which appear almost without melody when heard en masse. After some moments of listening however, rhythms begin to be discernible, as do melodies and individual notes. The tone of the album is set out in this first track and following pieces follow a similar blueprint. This is not to the album’s detriment however, as though The Luminous Ground could be accused of lacking in variation, it more than makes up for this with a cohesion and subtlety which rewards close attention. - Adam Williams

MARK MCGUIRE A Young Persons Guide

Mark McGuire seems to be a busy person. Not only does he play guitar in the fabulous synthesiser band Emeralds, which has received a lot of love over the last few years, but he also has a prolific portfolio of solo releases that should not be underestimated. Setting aside his stunning release on Editions Mego last year, the recordings within ‘A Young Persons Guide’ were mainly available as tape or CD-r releases in limited quantities which most people never had the chance to see or hear. Editions Mego now publishes a selection of tracks from these raraties compiled by Mark McGuire and Peter Rehberg of Mego. The material is not that different from what you maybe expect or already know from the young artist. Effect ladden loop-based guitar psycheldica with synthesisers thrown in now and then. The tracks are a bit longer and meditative as on the recent “Living with Yourself” release and a touch rougher round the edges. Nevertheless the nostalgic sense of melancholy that you find, as well as in his solo works and the works with Emeralds is present in nearly all the efforts found within ‘A Young Persons Guide’. Chords flicker and echo above over textures, arpeggiated patterns fold and dissolve into each other. These 20 tracks are completely introspective, yet somehow manage to remain light and ethereal throughout the entire journey. Even though Mark McGuire doesn’t re-invite the genre of psychedlic guitar jam-session-esque music, he does a really great job working within these boundaries. - Nils Quak

THE

SUNDAY

MORNING

STROLL

THE HAXAN CLOAK The Haxan Cloak

Listening to the Haxan Cloak’s self titled effort constantly reminded me of that power music has. The way music could be spine chillingly frightening without resorting to clichés. It is the kind of freight that hits exactly in the core, deep, haunting, resonating.

It’s beautiful isn’t it? The fact that one can listen to a new album by a new artist almost every day and still be completely in awe of the music on offer. The fact that music seems to have no intention of letting those loyal to it down anytime soon; its longevity, its ability to take the mind to all kinds of places from the uplifting to the morose, the way one note in the right place, one sound that appears out of nowhere can trigger all kinds of emotions and memories. Listening to the Haxan Cloak’s self titled effort constantly reminded me of that power music has. The way music could be spine chillingly frightening without resorting to clichés. It is the kind of freight that hits exactly in the core, deep, haunting, resonating. The cello is the instrument of choice here, sounding as gloomy as ever and aiding Bobby Krilic (the man behind The Haxan Cloak) in delivering his message perfectly. The album flows; it lacks the monotony that could afflict other musicians of the same ilk. It starts with intent, with raw power, with one note crashing with percussion and throughout album intro “Raven’s Lament” the artist’s abilities keep blossoming. Glockenspiel enters and adds a sick contrast to the sound of the cello bow grinding against the strings, the drones get heavier, the sound is overwhelming and the listener can’t help but succumb to

this dark wave and immerse him/ herself entirely in the music.

materializing into something awe inspiring.

“An Archaic Device” takes a slower turn, with violins now appearing in the picture and at one point fall completely silent, adding intensity that makes the notes that follow even more meaningful. The cello now is distorted, filtered and sounding as heavy as any down tuned sludge guitar riff would. It is interesting to see these sounds originating from a different source other than a guitar, the sound is crafted until it becomes on par with the heaviness sludge and doom metal fans know too well, yet the resonance of the cello’s wood, its size and inherent melancholy add a beautifully repulsive element to it. Krilic definitely knows what he’s doing in terms of sound manipulation and does it well.

And awe inspiring it is, the moment Mikhail Karikis voice enters in “Fall”, all the raw emotions that were gaining momentum pause and crystallize and offer the real first breather in the album. The moment where we find the prettiness amidst the despair and darkness, and it is amazing.

The album continues walking that morbid path with the introduction of field recordings, random percussion with “Disorder” bringing exactly what its title infers and acts as the tipping point for the album towards a denser sound with more elements and a clearer narrative. Until “Disorder” came in, the album gave the effect of being more or less a free flow of ideas; a train thought that was moving towards something that remained unidentifiable. More or less a build up that was getting stronger with every passing moment, gathering pieces, coalescing and

The album ends with “Parting Chant”, a very suitable name, which is also graced with Karikis’ voice and provides a very adequate closer to one of the year’s best surprises. The Haxan Cloak is a riveting album from start to finish, almost perfectly executed, and as discerning as the music on the album is, it is one of those albums one can listen to again and again and will always find something new to cling on to. Give it a spin and Krilic might be your new favorite cello yielding artist. - Mohammed Ashraf

“The Growing” proves to be the album’s clear highlight. The culmination of everything Krilic has shown that he was capable of and a little bit extra, and we are met by the thickest drones and out of nowhere glitched processed drums present the latest addition to the sound palette. This is where the listener finally gets the release, the most cathartic moment on the album.

BLACK SWAN The Quiet Divide

There are large expanses of relative hush, and for those listening on vinyl or cassette, there is a very clean distinction between sides A and B.

In the Bandcamp.com era, it isn’t all that surprising or difficult for an artist to maintain anonymity. Any kind of trend is prone to an equal and opposite counter-trend, and it is a largely accepted claim that the internet and the various social networks have done swift damage to our concept of privacy. This way the occasional animated hip-hop duo or band of unnamed composers really ought not be front page news. Even more, undisguised artists — those who still tender their given names and their undoctored photographs to every website that will post them — offer us carefully honed personae and focus-group makeovers. Their off-stage personalities are, by definition, not what we are looking to buy. So taking a pseudonym seems the most forthright way around the — shall we call it? — quiet divide. Yet during fall and winter of 2010, it was impossible not to confuse the Black Swan moniker with a successful film of exactly the same name, or the debut album with Clint Mansell’s Black Swan soundtrack. At least momentarily. (For some of us it was not just momentary.) The commercial impact was probably nonexistent:

“drones for bleeding hearts” seems like a fairly limited niche. Some music news outlets pitched in by reviewing both albums, but frankly, if you’re born with attentiveness issues, that only added to the confusion. Being eclipsed by an award-winning film with a widely-discussed lesbian scene? A fitting start for a project that takes its name from the classic tale of mistaken identity. So one can only wonder if the follow up album, named The Quiet Divide, seeks to comment on this coincidence: that, for a few short months of 2010, the lake of tears was populated with two black swans, both accompanied by her own soundtrack, and both scores remarkable. After all, the composers may be anonymous, but it is likely that they still keep up with their own press. We last heard from them in July 2010. The debut Black Swan (In 8 Movements) was acclaimed by the experimental music press, but received little mention in print or among the marquee music sites. Writing for Fluid Radio, Josh Atkin declared the album a “moody universe,” concluding that it was “a striking debut that is meticulous in its attention to sound creation.” In 8 Movements was an opulent

piece of instrumental composition: a lush synthesizer gloss with controlled string work, choking tension, and some moments of true darkness. In a season that delivered some terrific ambient releases and promised others (say, The North Bend and Acoustic Tales respectively), Black Swan (In 8 Movements) held its own. No question. Like the first, the title of this album is literal. There are large expanses of relative hush, and for those listening on vinyl or cassette, there is a very clean distinction between sides A and B. The title track opens the piece, revisiting — but by no means borrowing from — the yawning electronic sprawl and unapologetic background noise of the debut. It is difficult to choose favorites between the two prologues: In 8 Movements begins as majestic, even pretty-for-itsown-sake. But from its opening measures, The Quiet Divide makes no secret of its darker, more sinister intentions. Like the former, The Quiet Divide moves gradually, not in separate and distinct tracks. Changes occur with little fanfare, but they accumulate. This way the opening track is markedly different than, say, “Angel Eyes.”

But from its opening measures, The Quiet Divide makes no secret of its darker, more sinister intentions.

“Bleeding Hearts Alliance [Phase I]” introduces a low-volume orchestra, a manic piece for string, static and frequency, proving that terrifying compositions can arrive in the form of near-silence. By “DxSxDxH,” the fright has transformed to heartbreak. Processed sounds very nearly form a human voice, albeit a creepy and celestial sound; one part Blade Runner, one part dirge. Gazing through the surge of unrecognizable forms is what seems to be the tremolo picking of clean-tone post-rock guitar, a haunting and innovative application, here. Side A closes with the dense and distant “Angel Eyes.” By now the roar of static nearly obsoletes the rest: a blueperiod synthesizer line; extended, remote samples of speeches and song; and a piano somewhere. The canvas is thick with angst, and the homesick listener pines for a moment of relief. The expression “B side” has developed some negative connotations over its lifetime, a fact that the composers appear to celebrate here. Over half of the 20-

minute span is devoted entirely to noise: in this light, track names like “Chaos Reigns” and “White Mourning” are telling. Subsequent listens pick up slightly more complete samples nested far underneath the signal, and this is not exactly harsh white static, either (while this reviewer is far from an expert on the color spectrum of noises, it seems to lean toward the more user-friendly brown). “White Mourning” starts the steady return toward melody, and only here is it evident that the slow dissolution of the album’s first half is being reversed during its second. It is a delicate, highregister, almost naive synthesizer piece, and an incongruous recovery, to be sure.

between sides A and B culminate with “The Quiet Divide [Reprise],” which revisits the mournful, delirious ambiance of the opening track. The journey has been exhausting, like all meaningful trips are. What comes next from this seductive troupe? It is impossible to say. It seems fitting that a project named Black Swan records exactly two albums. And a catalog such as this one is more than we ask of most open-identity musicians. Here in The Quiet Divide, the dualities are stark and jarring: ease and tension, clutter and synthesis, prettiness and beauty. But for all of the divisions, Black Swan has delivered a truly singular piece of art. - Fred Nolan

The title and the tempo of “Drift Theory” remind us of the stakes: tectonic shifts, the slow movement of massive continents, the reshaping of the world. The glacial morphing from one theme to the next transforms the synth-lite of “White Mourning” into something much thicker, and much more galactic, resembling in some ways “DxSxDxH.” The imperfect mirrors

What comes next from this seductive troupe? It is impossible to say. It seems fitting that a project named Black Swan records exactly two albums. And a catalog such as this one is more than we ask of most open-identity musicians.

EVAN CAMINITI

When California Falls Into The Sea The song titles and press release indicate that this hazy lyrical guitar led lament is a critique of urban geography and of the “late-capitalist” society that is forced to search for space to live in within its decaying environs.

Geologists predict that California will eventually slide away into oblivion in about 50 million years. The Pacific ‘tectonic plate,’ which carries the western sliver of California, is sliding past North America at the rate of about five centimetres per year. One day, ‘Las Californias’ will slide underneath the earth’s crust somewhere near the Aleutian Islands, but don’t start panicking just yet. Alert audiophiles soon fathom that Caminiti’s ambiguous album title carries no reference to continental drift at all. The song titles and press release indicate that this hazy lyrical guitar led lament is a critique of urban geography and of the “late-capitalist” society that is forced to search for space to live in within its decaying environs. In a shift away from his customary attempts at a musical recreation of the natural landscape, here we see

the focus put on to a study of the precise laws and specific effects of the metropolitan geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behaviour of the individual. This tranche of tonal dexterity attempts to teach people to see beyond the broken glass, urine puddles, derelict buildings, drug dealers, detritus, and cacophony of modern living. These mazy, sardonic, caustic and pessimistic riffs hover effortlessly across the faded landscape of “The Golden State”. Riddled with a postmodern sense of melancholy, paradoxically a beguiling sense of mischievous happiness exists in this surface of these sentient strings. Retrospective rhythms and considered chords urge us to seek out and discover a sense of awe and beauty in the everyday things that we take for granted: the very ordinariness that we walk past a

thousand times, ignore and never pause to contemplate. While a sense of disappointment at the evident void and subsequent failure of the ‘American dream’ pervades all modules of this musette, hope of salvation is on offer here too. The pure unadulterated pitch of Caminiti’s guitar poetry beckons us all to see beyond the decrepit façade of Western civilization. Existential electric evocations dare us to believe that our crumbling cities can become pleasure gardens that invoke contemplation, serenity and appreciation of beauty, all spiritual qualities needed in order to cultivate an enlightenment that can be attained through the direct intuitive insight that this mesmeric music recommends and requires. Dean Rocker

While a sense of disappointment at the evident void and subsequent failure of the ‘American dream’ pervades all modules of this musette, hope of salvation is on offer here too

CHARLES-ERIC CHARRIER Oldman

As nothing is hidden, when multiple tracks are being used there are overlapping room sounds – the aforementioned breathing and creaking multilayered over each other is almost like mixed texture/field recording, it’s that tactile.

“Oldman” by Charles-Eric Charrier is certainly something of a departure from the previous album released on Experimedia, “Silver”… Whilst “Silver” was cerebral postrock, the new approach sees the artist, seated with a bass, in the middle of a room surrounded by mikes, sans any accompaniment save some sparse bass overdubs, and what seems like some occasional strings or “colour” by partner Beatrice Templé. The approach is brutally honest – a strong characteristic of the record is the sound of the artist breathing in and out, and the sound of hands swiping across the strings, the chair creaking and seemingly the sound of the air moving around the room. I’m a deep lover of solo bass as an instrument, and once I was past the seeming 180-degree turnaround in musical style I was completely sold on the absolute sincerity in sound. Absolutely no hiding anything with this approach, you’re actually in the room with the artist. As nothing is hidden, when multiple tracks are being used there are overlapping room sounds – the aforementioned breathing and creaking multilayered over each other is almost like mixed texture/field recording, it’s that tactile. The mikes are hot, white hot, and they pick up every movement and sound Charrier makes. You can hear him whispering to himself.

Musically, the vibe is one of jazz, but as with “Silver” the punk aesthetic fairly seeps out of every pore. The multilayered bass meandering is articulate, emotive and daring, going everywhere and nowhere at once; Charrier displays an amazing ability to stay within melody without overtly demonstrating one. Joint Venture, who are releasing the album, describe the music as “somewhere between instrumental folk and popular tale, African blues and haïku, “chanson française” and contemporary music.” All of which does it justice, but it still fails to convey the singular sound and attitude of it all. All tracks are presented with sparse vocal stanzas, a vocal hook to hold onto amongst the chaos of the music. The phraseology is haiku-esque, simple but evocative – for example – “Mid September The ocean Up to the hips” All of which are delivered in a onetake gravelly baritone. In French. Very, very smooth. There are two forms planned for the release, “including a booklet of 24 pages with drawings and the lyrics of Charles-Eric, printed by the Dutch company Extrapool on an a stencil machine. It also exists in a “low cost” version (CD and cover, without booklet) for those that need to pay attention to their expenditure. The release will coincide with a concert on April 22 at the Pannonica in Nantes, where Charles-Eric will be joined by Cyril

Secq on guitar and Covalesky on percussion.” Those impressed with the raw attitude of “Silver” will certainly be knocked out by the brash and grimy class of “Oldman”. I’m going out on a bit of a limb here, but I’m pretty certain this album is going to be a fixture on many year-end best-of lists. My understanding is that this is a very limited edition, and I would strongly suggest getting in VERY QUICKLY when it is released 22nd April. If you have time, the Joint Venture site has also made me an instant fan of the label. I’m slowly working my way through their catalogue as I write this. “I am trying to be simple, but not simplistic. That bass is at the service of a musical creation, of a certain sound, of a whole, but it is, above all, the means to put forward music in which the musician is not on the forefront, like these Songhaï dancers of Holley who, once they have reached the state of trance, will become the “horses of the genies”, through them, despite of them, something bigger expresses itself over which they have no control. “Before, I made “intellectual music” - I twisted and bent it to express something psychological, emotional. Since “Two Heads Bis Bis”, I am at the service of something that surpasses me. The challenge is to open oneself and to let the music come out.” – Charles Eric-Charrier. Mission accomplished, sir. - Alex Gibson

KYLE BOBBLY DUNN Ways Of Meaning

The subsequent sound manipulations, stripping those instruments from their timbral qualities, leave them floating ghostly in the form of aether-borne drones, conjuring forgotten memories as if congealed in formaldehyde and kept in a shadowbox.

Released on the excellent Desire Path Recordings label, Kyle Bobby Dunn’s latest offering, Ways of Meaning, explores a deep and reflective realm, adding an essential chapter to the young yet impressive discography of the Brooklyn-based composer. The sound palette is, as usual for Dunn, quite reduced, allegedly made mainly of guitar and organ. The subsequent sound manipulations, stripping those instruments from their timbral qualities, leave them floating ghostly in the form of aether-borne drones, conjuring forgotten memories as if congealed in formaldehyde and kept in a shadowbox. The album’s tone evolve from ascetic and mournful in opener Dropping Sandwiches in Chester Lake to majestic and restrained in closer Touhy’s Theme, and the purposeful lack of tactility gives Dunn’s work quite an hermetic yet encompassing quality.

Upon further explorations, it becomes obvious that Ways of Meaning is the work of a very talented musician, whose skills and intents are evident but not overwhelmingly present, creating for each of the six tracks a subdued and enigmatic narrative arc. New Pures, perhaps the most abstract number here, displays at first an almost imperceptible harmonic progression that unfolds slowly and drifts on the surface of a warm bed of bass, moving in and out of focus. The track reaches a subtle but powerful apex when layered loops of string-like instruments come to the fore and soon dissipate in a hazy cloud of dark and menacing broody synths – a compelling demonstration of Dunn’s talent to develop his work with delicacy and effortlessness. Throughout the album there are liturgical reminiscences, evident in Statuit which sounds at times like the tearful improvisations of a lonely church organist, or Canyon Meadows which resonates like a spectral decomposition of a

change ringing ensemble. The longest and penultimate track, Movement For The Completely Fucked, remains close in tone and intentions to those themes, but shows also more scope in its harmonic development. The lulling organs swells have a strange hypnotic effect on the listener and open vast territories to eventually create a near-mystical emptiness. The sacredness at play throughout the album, is more concerned by personal and intimate experiences than by an excessive religiosity and is alluded by the space carved for each piece – a space both vast and contained, often alike the resonance of an empty church, that aptly echoes the fragmented space of one’s memory. Kyle Bobby Dunn has created with Ways of Meaning a work of deep and immersive beauty, whose fragility reveals itself each time a little bit more upon repeated listening – recommended indeed. Pascal Savy

The sacredness at play throughout the album, is more concerned by personal and intimate experiences than by an excessive religiosity and is alluded by the space carved for each piece – a space both vast and contained, often alike the resonance of an empty church, that aptly echoes the fragmented space of one’s memory.

EMMANUEL WITZHUM For Strings, With Strings

The release represents new territory for Cotton Goods: the album is being given away as a free download with people being invited to re-interpret/remix the album on their own. “Strings” is Emmanuel Witzthum’s third release as part of the Cotton Goods family. The first came in the form of his stellar EP as Whisperer, the second was as one half of E+I (the other half being the Humble Bee). “Strings”, a solo release, features re-workings by Whisperer and E+I. The release also represents new territory for Cotton Goods: the album is being given away as a free download with people being invited to reinterpret/remix the album on their own. The album was also simultaneously released as a physical release in the form of a double disc set. As a physical album, it serves as another solid release for Cotton Goods. But it is as a free download and a chance to hear the first of what will hopefully be many interpretations of Whitztham’s work herein that the release feels much more effective. The Whisperer EP from 2010 was divided into two parts; a short classical piece for piano and a much longer drone piece. It was like being given two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Somehow, in the end that worked as part of the charm. It showed two sides to a musician with many facets and revealed a consistency to his approach no matter what the tools or genre. “Strings” uses the

same model for both discs again: each disc has a short classical piece and a much longer drone piece. As a self-contained album, that shift in genres and styles creates an odd flow to the disc(s) and makes it feel repetitive for repetitions sake. As a collaborative experience on the other hand, it almost becomes as if what constitutes disc 2 is meant to be only the first in a series of remixes/ re-interpretations. As a physical release the work is close-circled and self-contained, as a collaborative experience it is open ended and ongoing. “For Strings (v.1)”, which opens the first disc, is a striking piece of modern classical. The way the disc moves from “For Strings (v.1)” to “With Strings (v.1)” has the effect that the second piece is a sort of vapor trail to the first, and it works to strong effect. “With Strings (v.1)” is a series of strained strings and Morse code beeps that slowly emerge through a fog. Witzthum never feels the need to bring all the source sounds to the forefront no matter how evident they are– it’s all texture. At points it sounds like there is an orchestra trapped under a glass jar. There’s a real sense of narrative and evolution to the piece that keeps the listener immersed. This is what Witzthum the drone artist does so well.

“For Strings (v.2)”, which opens the second disc, stretches the work out further than v.1. As a result it feels more dramatic and tense than its counterpart. “With Strings (v. 2)” is the E+I re-working and features the Humble Bee’s lovely subaquatic tape percolations/ hiss and hum/ overall graininess. The piece emerges much more forcefully than v.1 but plays off the sustained notes a little more to still create a calming effect. The strings often return to the forefront in this piece, swelling in places and then disappearing again. There is even some delicate piano work in there. Despite it being more forceful in places, it still feels subdued overall thanks to the gentle ebb and flow that Witzthum and Tattersall are able to create with their seemingly disparate styles. “Strings” as a physical release contains some lovely work, but as a physical release its insistence on symmetry by having the two discs mirror one another is limiting. The real reward in this is to view it as a springboard for further collaboration. And here’s hoping we get to hear some of those reworkings some day because Witzthum certainly has given more than enough to build off of. Brendan Moore

At points it sounds like there is an orchestra trapped under a glass jar. There’s a real sense of narrative and evolution to the piece that keeps the listener immersed.

UNDER EXPOSED

CORY ALLEN

As the perfection of the digital age continues to tighten its grip on the organic quality of analog, I felt a need to gently take a few steps back from the stringent digital world in order

With these works, my intent is to find a balance between the living nature of analog and the magic perfection of digital, all the while imprinting the most fundamental aesthetic of all; the human spirit.

FOURCOLOR As Pleat

A wonderful collection of ten fragmented-guitar pieces interwoven with complex background drones and expressive incidentals whose appearance help shape a monumental new album once again released on the impeccable 12k label.

Keiichi Sugimoto has been releasing music as FourColor since 1998 on his own imprint Cubic Music and on labels such as Apestaartje and 12k. He is also part of electro-acoustic quartet Minamo and electronica duo Fonica… With As Pleat, Sugimoto presents a wonderful collection of ten fragmented-guitar pieces interwoven with complex background drones and expressive incidentals whose appearance help shape a monumental new album once again released on the impeccable 12k label. Echoing the stuttering and cut-up editing techniques of Fountain on his precedent release Letter of Sounds (2006, 12k), the opening track Quiet Gray 1 is a wonderful representation of Sugimoto’s sound world – otherwordly and yet very tactile. Augmenting his guitar with the beautiful and ethereal voice of Sanae Yamsaki aka Moskitoo, Sugimoto splices and laces them into a complex mesh that slowly morph into long and lingering swells of interwoven harmonies, as if time had lost its linearity and became multidimensional – an idea that will be explored many times

throughout the album under various guises. The two subsequent numbers Skating Azure and Bleach Black are both supported by strong metronomic signatures as a way of stria-ting a space otherwise stretched and smoothened by a slow and processed guitar work that conjures layers of clouds of contrasted forms and textures. Central track Carmine Fall is a majestic 9-min exploration, sounding at times like a warm condensate of Ovalprocess slowly unfolding into alternate soundscapes made of translucent layers of frozen guitar swells, antagonist micro-rhythms and distant tintinnabulations giving the impression that time has melted, neither passing or stopping. Sugimoto’s subtle use of reverb give this track a strange aquatic quality akin to the mist above a imaginary digital swamp. The three penultimate tracks are less abstract than preceding numbers but also more dreamy as if resolving the underlying tension set up and slowly dissolved in the first part of the album. Snow Petal is a wonderful evocation of a silent landscape being gently disturbed by the sound of snow falling at

dusk, time suspended above sunlit clouds. Iris (Familiar) sees Yamsaki’s vocals coming back, this time floating and diffused around quiet hiss of white noise and plucked guitars, so lightly processed their texture slowly change from gaseous to silky – absolutely gorgeous piece of work where everything is so detailed and flows gracefully over a bed of warm enveloping tones. Final track Quiet Gray 2 appears like a ghost version of opener Quiet Gray 1. The same narrative pattern seems to be explored but the relative laziness and innocence that characterised the latter has now disappeared, giving a very enigmatic aftertaste, thus carving even further the emotional dimensionality of Sugimoto’s work. A very unexpected and yet all the more powerful ending to this magnificent album. Keiichi Sugimoto has created so much more than a beautiful piece of ambient work. As Pleat’s depth and dimensionality are very much mesmerising and unique – an essential release. - Pascal Savy

As Pleat’s depth and dimensionality are very much mesmerising and unique – an essential release.

FELICIA ATKINSON The Driver

Félicia Atkinson is a French sound and visual artist currently based in Brussels, Belgium… In addition to a back catalogue which has seen her music made available on labels such as Spekk and Kaugumm, Atkinson has also taken part in various collaborations, including the well received Roman Anglais with France’s Sylvain Chauveau. She returns here on Hibernate Recordings for the labels first foray into vinyl. Atkinson was stirred to create The Driver after embarking upon a four month trip to the US last Summer. Journeying by car but unable to drive herself, she was thus free to fully appreciate the scenery and became particularly enamoured with the romantic Cascadian landscape of the Pacific Northwest which has proven so inspirational to artists and musicians for generations. Indeed, though The Driver was forged in Atkinson’s attic bedroom once she arrived home in Brussels, it is remarkable how well this record sits alongside releases from artists who reside in that part of the world, such as Marcus Fischer’s Monocoastal and Loscil’s Endless Falls. Atkinson’s visual art must surely play a key part in her songwriting as it is rare to see a musician who can conjure such strong imagery in the listener’s mind. Opening with Half Blonde, Atkinson plays slow and deliberate guitar which is awash in reverb, found sounds adding texture to her wandering tangents. Akin to a car journey through undulating terrain, the music is pushed gently forward, rising and ebbing so slowly as to appear almost unchanging. Succeeding tracks continue this narrative and The Driver reaches apex when its title track sees Atkinson adding vocal harmony to softly strummed guitar. The Driver is steeped in the atmosphere of the American road trip and can be considered as another faithful entry in a long line of musicians paying homage to the road. Optimistic and sunny in a manner which makes it more reminiscent of Jack Kerouac than Cormac McCarthy, this work is a faultless representation of the romance of travel and will surely stir a longing for adventure in anyone who listens. - Adam Williams

CHUBBY WOLF The Darker Sex

Making an EP of meditative electronic music feel like a complete listening experience is a difficult task. Making a 7” that feels like a full listening experience is near impossible. Somehow, Chubby Wolf (aka the greatly missed Danielle Baquet-Long of Celer) pulls it off with this lovely little 7” for Low Point. With Side A, titled “Free Time Spent Dreading the Inevitables, Soaring in Availables, Wording the Operatives”, we get 6 minutes of spectral hum. All the source sounds and layers are indiscernible. It’s as if standing at the outskirts of an industrial cityscape and hearing the low hum of mechanical and human activity delicately feeding off of one another; there is a harmony to it all that’s only apparent when you stand outside of it. There’s a harnessed beauty, a quiet optimism even, to the song. Even as the title of the song suggests, it’s about vague ideas, intangibles. But it’s also about possibility in the most positive sense of the word. If Side A felt like the beauty was being harnessed, even the title of Side B, “If You Love Me”, feels more direct. Side B lets it all out. Part of what makes ‘The Darker Sex’ work and feel complete is the sense that there is a narrative to it. The move forward between Side A and Side B makes it feel like, from a narrative standpoint at least, there was a whole middle section to the story that Dani left out; a wise choice too, because it works. Side B feels as if all the layers of source sounds are much more intertwined. Sure, there are still those ghostly sounds that sneak up on the periphery to fill out the sound, but somehow the song seems more at peace, less restless than the opener. And the control suggests that this ebb and flow, this sense of narrative that exists between the two songs, was as deliberate as can be. Even though only eleven some odd minutes, ‘The Darker Sex’ is a wonderful and full listening experience. This is one we’re lucky to have, don’t miss it. - Brendan Moore

LOOKING BACK: Miko - Chandelier

What makes Miko’s music so appealing is the sheer wealth of sound that she infuses it with.

Everyday sounds envelop us so much so that we can often take for granted the sheer volume of noise that passes through our ears. Indeed, one may be oblivious to the multiple tones produced through daily conversation. Others may choose to block off the sounds of the world through listening to music, while some may just be content with the nagging silence of deep thought. For artists however, sound can be such a vital sense. Those reverberations that most of us care to overlook may be central to their creative output. For example, Catalionian filmmaker José Luis Guerín often places greater emphasis on background noise than on dialogue. The immediate impact this has on an audience is the assumption of a more authentic fictional world: one that breathes just as freely as reality. In music, and certainly within the bold realm of experimental sound creation we are fortunate to gain access to a pool of artists with a huge affection for everyday noise. One such artist is Japanese singer Miko, who produces an enjoyable, quirky twist on the singer/

songwriter formula with her second album Chandelier. Chandelier is an album whose charm might not grab the listener straight away. However, part of the enjoyment of being an auditor is allowing a record to grow over time. What makes Miko’s music so appealing is the sheer wealth of sound that she infuses it with. In spite of this, there is no escaping a barebones approach to her production and in this sense it is the juxtaposition of Miko’s rich attention to sound detail with the record’s rustic flair that makes Chandelier stand out. Listeners may at times be reminded of the early work of Psapp. This is particularly apparent on opening track ‘Sea House’ which houses light glitches and screeches to create an unusual backdrop to Miko’s soothing vocals. ‘Kikoeru’ features a marching drum pattern to support an elegant use of guitar creating a sound not too dissimilar to label mates Tenniscoats. Elsewhere listeners will enjoy the muted vocals on ‘Keshiki’ that is heavily supported by bell-like percussion. ‘Cherries’ which is

driven by a slow thumping drum beat is again brought to life by a swirling mixture of background sounds, while ‘America’ which includes repeated vocals of the track’s title is a dreamy mesh of voice, acoustic instrumentation and processed sound. Chandelier is the product of a lover of sound. It is an album that when explored deeply is rich with auditory rewards. The overriding sense one feels from listening to this record is that of calm and one may wonder if it is the artist’s appreciation for the vast palette of noises that this world contains which allows her to evoke this feeling of ease. This notion is enhanced by the artist’s own words when she said, “This album is a light for myself, and I hope it could be a dim light for people like a lantern in the dark.” As such, let Chandelier be our beacon. It’s an album that not only exudes warmth, but one that may enlighten listeners to appreciate the endless array of sounds that form our everyday lives. - Josh Atkin

Chandelier is the product of a lover of sound. It is an album that when explored deeply is rich with auditory rewards.

720 FT

BLACK WATER

EZEKIEL HONIG Folding In On Itself

‘Folding in on itself’ is an album that would delight music critics and enthusiasts alike. An album that is easy on the ears yet offers plenty of food for thought, a consortium of sounds and ideas, of composition and sound art. This album made me sleep… “Does it mean it’s boring?” said dumbass #1… Quiet! Sorry about that. It might not sound as the best description of an album ever. Sleep is almost always related to the sense of boredom, but… “but it has beats!” cried dumbass #2, in his attempt to outwit #1 THAT IS THE LAST TIME ANY OF YOU WILL BE INTERRUPTING ME! I apologise yet again. It’s just that most people are too quick to generalise these days, to jump into conclusions without having enough substance to support them. Every instrumental album is post rock, any album that sounds a bit off is experimental (or avantgarde for extra coolness points) and if an album name comes up next to the word sleep in any sentence, then it must be uninteresting. Granted there is a multitude of examples out there that would give that last generalization an air of truthfulness, however, there are lots that would more than contradict that, and in the case of Ezekiel Honig’s latest effort, it is definitely the latter. ‘Folding in on itself’ is an album that would delight music critics

and enthusiasts alike. An album that is easy on the ears yet offers plenty of food for thought, a consortium of sounds and ideas, of composition and sound art. It has flow, finesse, yet without playing it safe or lacking any personality. Fact: Ambient music is pretty easy to make. Another Fact: Good ambient music is hard as hell to make. How many albums that are tagged as “ambient” do we listen to that sound exactly the same? The same chord progressions, synthesizer pads used, sound sources, same old guitar sound with n number of delay and reverb pedals on top, with one mood prevailing throughout the album. In my case, much more than I could ever ask for. Thing is, with the tools that technology has given to aspiring musicians these days, it is very easy for one to get fooled into thinking they made a proper album, tag it as ambient and release it, all in a fortnight, quite convenient. On the other hand, we have people like Mr. Honig here, who on listening to the album over and over again, one can sense the effort that has been put into it. The fact that he uses everything from street sounds to wooden percussive instruments to

processed guitars, all placed so naturally together takes ‘Folding in on Itself” to a whole new level. And yes, there are beats as previously inferred, but their repetition, tones and burial within the vast soundscape take the sound to the realm of the spiritual. There is an acute intelligence in the song writing and one that should be respected. The album moves and refuses to remain within the same area for too long. The more active songs are balanced by the percussion-less ones, for every harsh sound there is a gentle piano line or a few guitar notes somewhere within the album, and for every noisy street there is an endlessly peaceful landscape. A good album takes step forwards rather than stagnates and a good artist is the one that knows where to direct that motion. In introducing the album as one that made me fall asleep, I meant it in all gratitude. In taking me where I wanted to go exactly. It also worked in every other place I listened to it in, such is its versatility. I hope you got my point. “I definitely did” murmured the first No you didn’t “No, I didn’t… - Mohammed Ashraf

There is an acute intelligence in the song writing and one that should be respected.

TOKYO BLOODWORM Palestine

“Compositionally speaking, we stray from catchy hooks in our tracks. We like keeping a simple, yet subtly complex series of sounds per track. It sounded right in the case of ‘Still Passage’ when the track as a whole felt relaxing, and the scarce notes of melody in the track played off of one another.” Tokyo Bloodworm’s latest album Palestine is of note for two reasons: 1) it’s really damn good, as in year-end best-of list good, and 2) it is the last ever full length for Moteer records. Before we deal with reason one, a few things about reason two: this should leave you slightly heartbroken. For those who know Moteer’s output, there was probably a little pang in your heart when you read those words. For those unfamiliar with the label, their track record speaks volumes. Consider two things: Moteer released debut albums for both Part Timer and The Boats. Those two releases alone are enough to make a label noteworthy but across all 20 Moteer releases (and even all 10 Mobeer releases really), there is a devotion to quality that really borders on unparalleled. Not to mention how many labels Part Timer and The Boats have bolstered since those first releases for Moteer. When Moteer began in 2003 it specialized in a sort of minimal electronic music that was being hinted at by artists like Boards of Canada and labels like Fat Cat. Moteer took it one step further; the music was more experimental, almost fragile, the rhythms a little weirder. It was music that required a little more time, but rewarded anyone who took the time greatly. In recent years the scope of genres the label released were all over the place – from Yuri Lugovskoy’s extremely underrated debut, which sounds like dub music performed at the bottom of

the ocean, to The Ancients and their brand of psych/surf/folk, to Con Cetta’s micro minimalism. The label moved beyond genre boundaries to find artists that were both experimental but also well articulated in their forms. All of this is to say that even though the releases were more sporadic in recent years, the quality never waned and for that reason alone Moteer deserves a serious pat on the back. And all of that segues back to the first point; the new album from Tokyo Bloodworm is a damn good one and will likely be creeping up on a few best of 2011 lists. Tokyo Bloodworm’s last release was for Moteer as part of a collaborative album with Brael. It was one of Moteer’s finest moments and an album that one can go back to again and again and still find great rewards. It hinted at what was to come with Palestine. In a 2008 interview with loastatsea.net, Ryan Keane, one half of Tokyo Bloodworm’s core unit, said of the collective and their song ‘Still Passage’: “Compositionally speaking, we stray from catchy hooks in our tracks. We like keeping a simple, yet subtly complex series of sounds per track. It sounded right in the case of ‘Still Passage’ when the track as a whole felt relaxing, and the scarce notes of melody in the track played off of one another. We are both OCD about details and sometimes we spend weeks at a time on one song and eventually we keep the stuff we are

not completely sick of in the final mix. Hopefully in the end, our time and attention to detail appeals to the patient listener”. This same philosophy seems to be at the core of what makes Palestine work so well. “Canaanite Coast” opens up the album with some striking guitar work, some haunted violins and a collection of sparse melodies via various instruments. It’s experimental, yet accessible. The guitar work serves as a sort of central force to gravitate toward. Even though the song is loose, that guitar seems to offer a roadmap to navigate through the piece. It’s a strong and inviting opener. It takes all of one note into second song “Pale the Clerics Pass” to recognize why the album is called Palestine; the Middle Eastern influences are striking. And unlike the opener, there is no central instrument driving the melody. There’s a distorted/reverbed beat buried in there that almost goes unnoticed at first, as if the rhythms are so organic that their presence is almost invisble. But once you take note of that beat it’s almost as if all the ‘scarce notes of melody that play off each other’ seem to swell with the echo it spawns. It becomes a sort of pulse keeping the song alive. There are points in the song where the beat disappears and it’s like the melodies hover above some ghostly absence. As the beat drops out completely, a guitar enters…

There is a sense throughout the album that it as a whole is developing a narrative, but even within that, it’s as if each song is a story unto itself. Not only that though: the quality of the songs seems to get better and better.

Suddenly it’s a new song, “Vesica Piscis”, and the delayed/reverbed sounds of the guitar pick scrapping against the strings seem to form the rhythmic foundation of the song. Another point of interest, and not one to be taken as incidental, is that Miles Whittaker (Demdike Stare/MLZ/Daughter of the Industrial Revolution) mastered the disc. Again, that idea of rhythms being organic seems to be the driving force behind the sound. There is no central instrument to gravitate toward; instead the composition relies on a series of small musical phrases from various instruments working in collage to form the melodic thrust of the piece. And indeed much of the first half of the album seems designed to prey on your subconscious and get under your skin in ways that are hard to pinpoint. And yet despite everything being so sparse, there is somehow a sense of urgency to the songs. “People Do It to Each Other” is driven by percussive elements that have such an off kilter rhythm it’s hard to ever catch up to. Interestingly, the song almost feels as if the percussion was written first and the challenge was to build off that rhythmic energy. It’s hard to pick out individual instruments; all seem to be working in a chaotic sort of harmony. But still that sense of focus is there. By now it’s

clear that Palestine is an album both devoted to an idea and insistent on creating a feeling in the listener. There is a sense throughout the album that it as a whole is developing a narrative, but even within that, it’s as if each song is a story unto itself. Not only that though: the quality of the songs seems to get better and better. “The Garden Shined Our Eyes Away” is an absolute stunner and one of the collective’s best songs to date. Second to last song, “Flames Set in Wooden Frames”, rolls on over an epic 12 minutes, creating a feel both progressive and cinematic. The song has such a sense of urgency to it that it feels like a train about to speed off the tracks. It feels like the climax that the album has been working toward. Final song “Everything is Created by the Will for It Too Exist” is the come down after that climax, gently easing the listener out of the experience. It blends Middle Eastern sounds with some Asian influences, hinting that there is even more to this collective’s palette than Palestine would allow. It serves as a great outro and teases at a future filled with many more rich excursions. As a limited bonus disc, Palestine Remixes offers a strong collection

of re-workings from artists including Ian Hawgood, The Remote Viewer, Part Timer, Children of the Wave and Shigeto. The great thing about the remix disc is that it too works as an album. None of the artists involved took a conventional approach to remixing, so the abstract approach to composition that the original album takes is mirrored across the remix disc as well. If one thing links Tokyo Bloodworm’s Palestine with the previous Moteer full length from Yuri Lugovskoy, it is the fact that both albums have one foot firmly rooted in tradition and the other in innovation. As located in the past as some of its influences may be, Palestine also feels ahead of its time. Four years in the making, this is an album that manages the tricky balance of being both abstract and deliberate: abstract in its approach to arrangement and composition, deliberate in its intent. Reading Ryan Keane’s words from a few years back, it’s clear that this music comes from an intuitive place, and that’s a hard place to write from in any medium. But as most musicians will tell you, it’s also the only honest place to write from. This is an album rich in mysteries that reward repeated listens. Simply put, this is on the do-not-miss list for 2011. Brendan Moore

As located in the past as some of its influences may be, Palestine also feels ahead of its time. Four years in the making, this is an album that manages the tricky balance of being both abstract and deliberate: abstract in its approach to arrangement and composition, deliberate in its intent.

ANTONYMES

The Licence To Interpret Dreams Each piece is a wonder, much like encountering different facets of the same being, finding something new to love about someone: an unintended twitch, a new wrinkle, freckle.

There is no maelstrom, no swell of overwhelming sound. Antonyme’s first full-length work, The License to Interpret Dreams, is defiant in its fragility; in fact, the work is so over-wrought that it teeters on the point of collapse. It seems its purpose is to carry on a prolonged moment of respite despite the fact that it shudders under its weight and poignancy. Each piece is a wonder, much like encountering different facets of the same being, finding something new to love about someone: an unintended twitch, a new wrinkle, freckle. To think you know something or someone so deeply and be surprised by what is still to be discovered. A guarded laugh may at times burst out into a fullfledged explosion. An undefined glance. I can also imagine knowing someone so deeply but encountering them in a store or street, without accompanying them, and seeing them exist outside of your life together, as if you’ve never met or known one another. Who is a person you care deeply about when they’re not with you? On this work, I began to look at people I’ve known and places

I’ve visited in a new light, questioning everything I’ve ever known, and whether what I’ve known was conjured and an extension of myself. I listen to “Doubt” and I hear scattered words and experience an assortment of images, and I wonder whether what I see is me, or, as I understand myself to be. A finite layer of gossamer shrouds the album from the start, as “A Fragile Acceptance” gradually seeps out of the speakers. A serene hush floats in and, intermittently, notes pick up out of the silence. A wave of strings emerges from the silence and shares a kinship with the sensation of an epiphany, of knowing everything all at once before it completely escapes you. I felt lonely in its absence, when it subsides, but became used to the emptiness so effortlessly filled in with the right note or the right shift, at the right time. “Womb of the Great Mother” is barely there. I was directly connected to it without noticing; it was affecting what I was doing, whether I would stop and stare,

entranced, while finishing some work, it began to inform my thinking and my doing. I suppose the purpose of some music is to barely exist and creep into your being. The many diluted definitions of ambient music try to express this point but what they fail to accept is that your mind moves with the music, you become aware, and it washes over you. Music should never exist at the perimeter and Antonymes’ work permeates your being from all angles. The listener plumbs the depths, occasionally rising for air on “Landscape Beyond an Open Window”; the wind cuddles around you before “Endlessly” wisps you away from the bracken, the charming foliage, and the shrubbery. There is so much to experience and so much the music will conjure for the listener. The music on “The License to Interpret Dreams” can influence how one views the world, their inherent sensibilities, of knowing, and, finally, of returning. - Michael Vitrano

Music should never exist at the perimeter and Antonymes’ work permeates your being from all angles.

THE

Interview We recently caught up with Ian Hazeldine, aka Antonymes to discuss key aspects of the upcoming album ‘The Licence To Interpret Dreams’ released through Hidden Shoal Recordings…

Other artists have been introduced to some of the compositions. Did you always know who you wanted to work with or did ideas formulate as the album grew?

The Licence To Interpret Dreams… An interesting title… Why that name?

I’ve worked with James Banbury [cello] many times over the last six years or so, mainly as a graphic designer for his label, Service Audio Visual. I’d originally recorded A Light From The Heavens for Beauty Becomes The Enemy Of The Future, and James supplied the beautiful cello parts that really brought it to life, so I always knew that he would be on the album He’s such an accomplished and experienced string arranger, and I knew his contributions would always be prefect.

If I hear something that sounds interesting, I’ll write it down. I’m forever making notes, as I have a really terrible memory. I was throwing out an old phone and I came across the title in a series of notes that I had made. Unfortunately I didn’t make a note of where I’d heard it, but I’m pretty sure that it was most likely from something on BBC Radio 4. Was there an overall vision when starting out to produce this album with regards to the sound that you wanted to achieve? Not really. I hadn’t done anything as sophisticated as developing a sound palette for the album. I tend to gather ideas as very short pieces as I go along. I didn’t really know that I was making an album for a long time, I was just accumulating material with no specific destination. Things just developed and as I added elements to each piece. I knew that I wanted to produce something richer, but I suppose it formed the sonic landscape on its own.

I’ve known Christoph Berg for quite some time and I was really overjoyed when he agreed to play on the album. His input on the album extends far beyond the pieces he plays on. His encouragement and ideas were really important, and really pushed me on tracks like A Fragile Acceptance and The Door Towards The Dream. I’m really looking forward to working on more projects with Christoph in the future. Jan Van Den Broek fronts the astonishingly beautiful June 11. His inclusion on the album was really out of the blue, but when Paul Morley presented me with the words for Doubt I really couldn’t

think of anyone else to deliver them. What was the process with regards to recording and how easy did you find it working with other artists? For me, often the recording process can be very quick, as a lot of what I do is improvised. As I don’t play particularly well, and I tend not to like re-recording parts, so there is usually a lot of “manipulation and reconstruction”. This is the lengthy part of the process for me. Even on the simplest of pieces I can be working for weeks, so working with other musicians, people that can really play is a great way of speeding up the process. With Christoph and James I didn’t need, or want to give them to much direction. They pretty much did what they wanted, with just a vague sense of what I was looking for. I was more interested in what I knew they were capable of. I think the only thing I was prescriptive about was the cello on A Fragile Acceptance, where I actually sent the specific parts to James to play. Paul’s words on Doubt came out of me listening to Bright Red, by Laurie Anderson. I love the way that she and Lou Reed deliver the words on the title track. Jan Van Den Broek delivered the words perfectly, and also did a great job on the vocal treatments. Collaborating has opened up many possibilities for me, and I’m looking forward to doing much more.

For me, often the recording process can be very quick, as a lot of what I do is improvised. As I don’t play particularly well, and I tend not to like re-recording parts, so there is usually a lot of “manipulation and reconstruction”.

Was this something that happened quickly or did this aspect take a long time? I’ve never really been a prolific worker, and because graphic design work often gets in the way, things do take a long time. It’s more deliberation than action. After I’ve written something, I’ll listen to it a lot over a couple of days, then just leave it for a while. Coming back to something a month or two later makes the world of difference. I’m never really in any hurry with my music. Hidden Shoal have been waiting for about two years for this album, but it wasn’t right for a long time, a lot of pieces got discarded, or completely changed. Are there any influences that impacted on the recording of the album? For me the biggest impacts on my music last year, when I was recording most of the album where 4 artists: Clem Leek, Field Rotation, Nils Frahm and Greg Haines. I think that Greg’s album Until The Point Of Hushed Support made the biggest impression. Although my album sounds nothing like Greg’s, and is nowhere near as accomplished, it gave me the notion that I could be more ambitious. The artwork…Visually it’s stunning. Can you tell us more about this and why you went for that cover image? Is it interlinked with the music? I didn’t really think about the cover until the record was finished, but I always knew that I wanted to continue the visual theme from the original release of Beauty Becomes the Enemy of the Future on Cathedral Transmissions. I’d bought a beautiful victorian photograph for that cover from Castle Books in Hay-on-Wye. Earlier this year I took a trip back and after a couple of hours searching I found the perfect image that I thought really connected with the music. It was only after a bit of research that I found that the location was Rydal Waters in England’s Lake district. By a curious coincidence, the day my copies of the album arrived from the pressing plant we were on our way to the Lake District for a few days. We were staying in Ambleside, a short

distance from Rydal Waters. It seemed fitting to take the album to the location that the cover image came from Slightly strange to stand where the unknown photographer had stood, probably over a hundred years previously. Paul Morley’s sleevenotes are also very important to the overall feel of the cover. I think he’s written something really incredible for this one, really encapsulating the intention of the album. From a visual perspective you also made a short film to go with the release. Is filmography an important aspect to your work, and if so will we see this side of your creativity developing in the future? I really enjoy making films, although it’s really time consuming, as I post process each frame individually. I’m hoping to give it a little more time to find a better way of doing it, but yes, I’ll be doing a lot more in the future. Being signed to Hidden Shoal must have been a great experience. How did this come about and what has been the main difference working with a larger label compared to doing self releases? I’ve had a connection with Hidden Shoal for about three years now. They were actually the first label I contacted, after only writing two pieces as Antonymes. Cam, their label manager, was enthusiastic from day one, but I didn’t feel that was ready to release something with them straight away. We kept in touch and I kept sending him things and putting off discussing any timings. Finally, last year I felt I couldn’t put it off any longer, and set to work properly. I really couldn’t find a better label for me, they’re truly wonderful and very organised. They’ve taken all of the hard work out of releasing a record. In the past I’ve had to spend weeks, probably months, making up things by hand, which generally means you don’t end up with several serious scalpel injuries, and only make a few dozen copies.. That said, I’m still going to be doing occasional short-run bespoke releases too.

Many people we have spoken to always ask when we will see a live Antonymes performance. Is this something we can expect to see soon and are there plans to perform the album live? I really have no desire to perform live. I did a couple of things with Paul Morley last year, The Big Chill in the summer and at the Southbank Centre just before Christmas. I just brought my parts on CD and sat in the audience. I’m really not a performer. My memory is such that I don’t think I still play more that one or two pieces that I’ve recorded. I don’t feel the need to physically replay anything I’ve ever written in a live context. I’m considering making some longer films though, and writing music to accompany them, which I’d send out to “perform” for me. What can we expect to see next from you musically and visually over the rest of the year? Hopefully some surprises. I’m currently working on a series of gentle collisions with Drew Sullivan. His first three albums as Slow Dancing Society are being reissued in CD through Hidden Shoal and I’m remixing a track from each, plus one from his latest album. These will form an EP. I’ve done one already, and it’s sounding really good. I’ve also got something out on Colin Herrick’s Time Released Sound label later in the year. Seven pieces I wrote and recorded between Christmas day and new year’s eve last year. They’re all piano pieces, although I have played some violin on one track. It’s a 3″ CD that’s going to come with an engraved piano key! Colin doesn’t take half measures when it comes to extravagant packaging. After that I’m going to start work on some short films, including a very special one for Dead Pilot. I’ll be launching a photography website later in the year, if I have time, to sell prints of my work. Digital photography doesn’t age, and I want my work to have a life outside of the computer domain. They’ll be limited prints and will change every season. I love to make work for myself! - Daniel Crossley

HIGUMA

Pacific Fog Dreams “Pacific Fog Dreams” contains seven sonic slabs of tonal theory that dare to document the experience of “cosmic consciousness,” including the musicians own acoustic account of their ventures into this inward realm.

The lowest rate of church attendance in the United States occurs in The Pacific Northwest and this vast territory constantly reports the highest percentage of atheism; this occult phenomenon is most prominent in the part of the region west of the Cascades. Current findings reveal that 25% of the population in Washington and Oregon believe in no religion at all. Religion plays a smaller part in Pacific Northwest politics than in the rest of the United States. The religious right has considerably less political influence than in other regions. Political conservatives in the Pacific Northwest tend to identify more strongly with freemarket libertarian values than they do with the reactionary principles of religious social conservatives. “Pacific Fog Dreams” contains seven sonic slabs of tonal theory that dare to document the

experience of “cosmic consciousness,” including the musicians own acoustic account of their ventures into this inward realm. Caminiti creates exquisite walls of celestial guitar to form an emotional meta-drone that echoes and exposes; instinct, intelligence and anxiety. Shifting between honeyed compositional phrase spirits and an electrified sensuality of thrummed annihilation, this sonic symposium reveals questions about the false opposition of the soul and substance. High sustain, tube amplification, and highly variable audio ‘defects’ create obfuscated feedback which is ‘tuned’ into controlled dynamics with experimental guitar proximities, positions and angles. Caminiti and Gee’s instrumentational knowledge and desire is used to immense effect to create deep divinities of sonic

transduction, melodious monolithic assemblies founded upon the heroism and energy exerted by these musical messiahs. Spectral choirs of faith and doubt speak sagaciously over hyperrealised requiems as echelons of druidic exhilaration flutter skywards encrusted in regalia. The poise and calculation of these Zarathustrian prayers leave this auditor in no doubt that this music has the power to alter the heavens. To theists this will naturally seem to be a glimpse of the presence of God, whilst atheists will argue that an omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent God is not compatible with a world where there is evil and suffering, and where divine love is hidden from many people. - Dean Rocker

Spectral choirs of faith and doubt speak sagaciously over hyper-realised requiems as echelons of druidic exhilaration flutter skywards encrusted in regalia.

COLIN STETSON

New History Warfare Vol.2: Judges Michigan born maestro Colin Stetson is highly regarded as a bass saxophone player, but not satisfied with mastery of a single instrument, this multi-talented musician plays clarinet, bass clarinet, French horn, flute, and cornet. The intensity associated with the live performances of his compositions are said to leave audiences in a state astonishment and awe. Renowned for production of a continuous tone without interruption, accomplished by breathing in through the nose while simultaneously blowing out through the mouth using air stored in the cheeks, Stetson seems to actually become the instrument, with a dedication to forge a Zen like concept of ‘mind-body’ – developing the intuitive, spiritual side of the performer as much as the musicianship itself. New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges is his second solo album; recorded in a single take, at times it seems to use almost every instrument and every style you could think of and some of which you could never hope to decipher. But this is no aimless drift across the genres. This recording sees the musicians, engineers and arrangers performing at the top of their game to produce an album that will upset and anger the purists and defy any would be pigeon-holers. A renaissance blend of jazz, classical, electronica, minimalism, blues and then some, this recording delivers an experience of emotional breadth where the listener’s soul is edified with a deep and mysterious energy. This is a powerful alchemy that utilises romantic, gothic, and occult ideas to describe and transform the lives of both performers and audience. This album bursts with a musicality that excites rewards and entertains in different ways every time it is listened to. Take an intense and spiritual journey to the core of your own humanity with an innovative, experimental and charged reality that carries a solemn and weighty responsibility. - Dean Rocker

SLEEPINGDOG

With Our Heads In The Clouds & Our Hearts In The Fields Michigan born maestro Colin Stetson is highly regarded as a bass saxophone player, but not satisfied with mastery of a single instrument, this multi-talented musician plays clarinet, bass clarinet, French horn, flute, and cornet. The intensity associated with the live performances of his compositions are said to leave audiences in a state astonishment and awe. Renowned for production of a continuous tone without interruption, accomplished by breathing in through the nose while simultaneously blowing out through the mouth using air stored in the cheeks, Stetson seems to actually become the instrument, with a dedication to forge a Zen like concept of ‘mind-body’ – developing the intuitive, spiritual side of the performer as much as the musicianship itself. New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges is his second solo album; recorded in a single take, at times it seems to use almost every instrument and every style you could think of and some of which you could never hope to decipher. But this is no aimless drift across the genres. This recording sees the musicians, engineers and arrangers performing at the top of their game to produce an album that will upset and anger the purists and defy any would be pigeon-holers. A renaissance blend of jazz, classical, electronica, minimalism, blues and then some, this recording delivers an experience of emotional breadth where the listener’s soul is edified with a deep and mysterious energy. This is a powerful alchemy that utilises romantic, gothic, and occult ideas to describe and transform the lives of both performers and audience. This album bursts with a musicality that excites rewards and entertains in different ways every time it is listened to. Take an intense and spiritual journey to the core of your own humanity with an innovative, experimental and charged reality that carries a solemn and weighty responsibility. - Josh Atkin

MOMBI

The Wounded Beat Music listeners are often divided into two categories… The first camp is made up of people that take a fairly philosophical approach to music – able to appreciate the fact that a great deal of effort and financial sacrifice is required by the artist, that if not for that effort, then much music would not exist at all. This camp is able to appreciate almost any type of artistic expression, able to appreciate the fact that the actual act of creativity is a laudable thing in and of itself. The second camp is larger, and houses a greater number. This camp is comprised of those that view music on a descending scale of merit and value. The common viewpoint would be that some music has more inherent value and skill embodied in it, and the less that a recorded project conforms to these preapproved preferences, then it is of little comparative merit. It goes without saying that the sliding scale by which these judgments are made are comprised entirely of the personal opinion of the listener. Given that experimental music has no rulebook, most readers of this site would (I think) fall into the first category. There is no scale or set of boundaries for them to judge a release by, as the idea is to push or escape those boundaries entirely. An idea doesn’t have to be in key. The time signatures do not have to sit just so, there is no need to squeeze it into three minutes with choruses designed for radio. Mombi’s “The Wounded Beat”, in this context, presents a unique challenge for a listener. It’s a record that displays a lot of the hallmarks of an experimental record, but at the same time conforms to the more stringent and binding rules of songwriting. In this capacity, it can alienate both camps. Recent releases that blend this concept (James Blake and

Radiohead spring to mind) have met with some success, whilst drawing no small amount of flak from many quarters for the same reason. The fan of no boundaries is offended by their imposition, and the fan of boundaries is offended by them being moved, ignored or adjusted. Can’t please everyone. The primary components of “The Wounded Beat” are many, but the songs appear to have sprung from acoustic folk based compositions. In more than one place, the vocal delivery and the sparse guitar work are reminiscent of white-tipped, Alpine-mountain tinged folk of the seventies ala John Denver. This is counterpointed with heavily reverbed and soundscaped backing that lend a considerable weight, and the piano work is tastefully unobtrusive. However. Those wedded to the concept of conventional songwriting may find it infuriating. Working on the premise that if vocals are to be placed front and center as the primary point of reference, it would stand to reason that they would be strongly delivered and the lyrics would be able to withstand the scrutiny that this placement warrants. A number of genres sidestep this by placing vocals back or putting heavy effects on them (examples? Insert your favorite shoegaze band here. Mogwai, ‘Hunted By The Freak’. ISIS, barring their last two records). A number of the songs on this record display talent – ‘Glowing Beatdown’, for example is worthy of mention. The tail end of the record is incredibly sedate, and has many interesting musical ideas. The delayed guitar in ‘Cascade Cliffs (Looking Down)’ is genuinely moving. The press for the record mentions a 3-year

gestation/development period, which makes it hard for me to criticize the obvious effort involved. Perhaps my resistance to the record is a subconscious reaction towards overproduction; given that it seems to have been an album redesigned in the making, perhaps the caesarean nature of its delivery telegraphs its forced nature. On a personal level, I find flawed masterpieces intriguing. I was unable to dismiss the record after listening to it once, and despite my ambivalent reaction to it I found myself returning to it. I suspect that over time my resistance to the elements that grated with my sensibilities would become less, and over time it may reveal itself to be a very clever and sensitive record. This tends to indicate that over time Kael Smith and Matt Heron may develop their unique sound further, and with some creative and unconventional production, subsequent records may prove to be stellar. Keith Keniff, better known for his releases as Helios and Goldmund but here wearing the hat of producer, has done a very good job of making the record sound very high quality – more than once I was disarmed by the mixing and placement, but really cracking the whip on performance and delivery from the artists may have delivered the extra 20% that would have seen this record move from interesting to engaging. The musical ideas all have merit, and there is undoubtedly an audience for literate ambi-electrofolk, but a stronger foot in either camp may give the act the deliberate strength it requires to rise above others. I would suggest that this record is a good test of which camp you personally fall into as a listener. I am still uncertain of where it places me, and for that it is valuable. - Alex Gibson