Odd Couple Of Great Releases

WILL HOLSHOUSER TRIO + BERNARDO SASSETTI – Palace Ghosts And Drunken Hymns

Holshouser and Sassetti had shared a stage for the first time in 2004, this album coming five years later as an expected corollary of that initial meeting. The accordionist and the pianist penned the entirety of the program, except for Carlos Paredes’ “Dança Palaciana” which opens the CD. The line-up is completed by Ron Horton on trumpet and David Phillips on bass. Portugal’s musical roots, landscapes and urban environments are admittedly an essential influence on this work, which alternates moments of wholehearted joy – characteristically expressed by odd-metered tunes and folk-ish themes led by Holshouser’s accordion – and pensive reminiscences in which Sassetti’s piano emerges with the customary assortment of introspective melancholy but – a bit of a revelation here – also with a measure of discordant diversity, exemplified by the angular figurations of “Irreverence”. The most lyrical traits, though, emerge courtesy of Horton, whose lines produce immediate images of vulnerability enriched by a rare quality of perceptive self-discipline, letting him appear as the real lead figure in this circumstance. Phillips is a clever, ever-efficient supporter, furnishing the interplay with unambiguous contrapuntal suggestions that help the music to remain anchored to a reality that often tends to be forgotten in such a kind context. A brilliantly rendered example of instrumental narrative mixing popular and experimental factors. (Clean Feed)

JACK GOLD-MOLINA TRIO – Colored Houses

Besides being a drummer who sounds as bad intentioned as wisely inclined towards the clever decomposition of regular pulses, Gold-Molina is the man behind Sol Disk, the label on which this fiercely unapologetic CD is published. In this occasion, he is flanked by Michael Bisio on bass and Michael Monhart on soprano, tenor and baritone saxophones. This is one of those albums who meet my unconditional approval since the very first notes heard, as one instantly detects a genuine will of exploring the soul of the music in a way that is both radical and linked to some kind of primeval root. There’s a shamanistic quality to the playing, the performers stopping on certain figures to launch themselves into the spirals of repetitive patterns and interlocking rhythms that connect directly their heart to the improvisational core. Gold-Molina leaves us flummoxed with a constant change in the percussive flow, utilizing mechanics of expression that discard the obviously bewitching aspects of free drumming to enhance the spiritual quintessence of an everlasting uninhibited groove. Bisio offers a spectacular performance, especially when using the arco over the course of long droning mantras (such as in “Water Lilies”) and extended fragments of melodic fearlessness, a timbre inflexibly rooted in a fertile ground of significant achievements, a lexicon - as ever - definitely unique. Monhart exalts every nuance of his reeds, transmitting signals of perturbation and raking the remnants of expository melody to generate anti-themes and solos completely disengaged from classic formulas, a well-visible star in an already extraordinarily clear sky. Records like Colored Houses prove that there’s still hope for emotional reaction when listening to a jazz album. Extremely recommended.

Two Pianists

DANA REASON TRIO – Revealed

First album as a leader from this artist, and also my first meeting with her playing despite previous collaborations with names such as George E. Lewis, Cecil Taylor, Jöelle Léandre, Barre Philips, Joe Mc Phee. Reason, whose style is defined by rational procedures not involving coldness, is aided by Dominic Duval on bass and John Heward on drums. The interest lies primarily in the apparent slight disjointedness of the respective styles which, quite absurdly, denotes an even more coherent unity of intents. Reason’s flurries might indeed recall some of the most intelligible intuitions of the aforementioned Taylor, yet there is a measure of latent melancholy in the music which sets her personality apart from literal comparisons. The way in which she’s able to decelerate at the right moment and leave any sort of emphasis out, privileging moody smoothness and intellectual elasticity informed by an intelligent dismantling of clichés, is finely highlighted by the uninterrupted meticulousness – mixed to large doses of dissonant fervour – shown by the ever-durable Duval, while Heward applies a mixture of logic and sensitive magnification of certain percussive details to complete a strange kind of inner compatibility. Externally, all of this appears like three distinct ways that, in the end, find a point of convergence from which sizeable quantities of “pragmatically alluring” vibrations are generated. (Circumvention)

EMILIO TEUBAL & LA BALTEUBAND – Un Montón De Notas

The title translates as “a bunch of notes” and perhaps this is exactly what, at the end of the day, weighs down this otherwise pleasant enough record, preventing us from an entirely positive reception. Teubal, a Spanish at birth but now a citizen of Argentina, is a composer who appears to possess some of the right gifts to become a major name in this field. Immaculate technique, an innate proclivity to aurally satisfying combinations, a light veil of nostalgia, room for everybody to improvise. In that sense, La Balteuband (Xavier Perez, Felipe Salles, Moto Fukushima, Franco Pinna, Kobi Salomon, Ivan Baremboin, Greg Heffernan and Marcelo Wolski) is a gorgeous melting pot of styles and influences coming from different areas of the world, counting on musicians endowed with flawless instrumental dexterity. For about three quarters of the CD Teubal manages to sustain our interest with scores that could easily be enjoyed by the true addicts of genuine fusion (I mean of the musically deeper kind - we’re not talking Lee Ritenour here, with all the due respect to the latter), with hints to Oregon, Egberto Gismonti and certain incarnations of Pat Metheny Group. Unfortunately there are also tracks that, on the contrary, sound a little heavier to these ears: excessive solo juggling, insufficient consequence on the memory, tunes lacking a bit of synthesis that seems to exist elsewhere. An accurate selective process would have made this almost perfect (in spite of my time-honored heartlessness for this type of stylistic derivations); instead, a few handfuls of unnecessary ingredients – whose oily taste, regrettably, does remain in the mouth – cause certain episodes of Un Montón De Notas to occasionally overstay their welcome. (Not Yet)

Hail Mary Trio

These three reviews were edited on December 8th, Immaculate Conception day in Italy (elsewhere too, perhaps?). Not bad for an unrepentant agnostic.

THOMAS DIMUZIO & ANDRE CUSTODIO / CONURE – Street Of Errs

Another split from John Gore’s ever-interesting series on Cohort. Dimuzio and Custodio present “Air Way”, a live recording from 2007 that utilizes samples, processing, loops, MIDI-controlled feedback and synthesizer to generate a spacey, sporadically intimidating soundscape that could not really be described as blissful, its tissue also characterized by a modicum of growl which avoids the barrenness usually manifested by all those sweet-sounding pseudo-cosmic trips which anyone with a workstation is able to concoct in this day and age. It mixes mystery and majesty, stasis and movement, drone and variation, meaning that our interest is sustained with ease throughout 18 minutes. Conure’s “Murray Street” – much longer at 27’ – was created by manipulating the sounds coming from the Manhattan site made famous by a Sonic Youth album’s title. The temperament of this piece is consequently more inconstant, noisily oppressing, the composer privileging the most distorted aural nuances of the audio range while basically maintaining the qualities of that sort of overwhelming mantra informing metropolitan life - especially in NY – with additional doses of piercingly spurious raucousness thrown in for good measure. In both cases: fine, though not world-shattering stuff.

METAL MACHINE TRIO – The Creation Of The Universe

You’ve probably read about this project most everywhere by now, but a little bird told me that the world at large also needed my two cents. “Guitarist” Lou Reed (no, he’s not singing yet he does elicit fuzzy Hendrix memories at times), saxophonist Ulrich Krieger and electronic wizard Sarth Calhoun, recorded live at Los Angeles’ Red Cat, explore a series of situations oscillating between collective brooding improvisation and something nearing a sort of art-rock informed by a measure of hardness, with a slight tendency to substantial, if well-contained distorted riffage and occasional spewing of unruly squeals. I’m convinced that many so-called purists will turn their noses up in front of this but – as usual - no problem here. There are several episodes in which these improbable comrades do very interesting things, superimposing melodic fragments to massive drones and infected discharges in the space of moments, almost never sounding vulgar. It must be told that Calhoun’s processing is often the key to the conversion of pretty regular stuff into nonfigurative conceptions, relatively appealing on an experimental level; the mental depth of the involved artists makes sure that ineffective noodling is left out of the room more often than not. Naturally we’re not talking masterpiece – Metal Machine Music this ain’t, despite the trio’s denomination. In spite of this, we come across an appreciable quantity of fascinating interludes – a didgeridoo-like moan at approximately 37 minutes of the first disc, scarred by Reed’s slashing outbursts, being particularly munificent to these ears – in a general predisposition to humongous surging. As a method for making some (edible) noise it’s more or less OK, provided that one manages to assimilate the unnecessary fat of certain segments where excessively rock-ish propensities distract us a bit from the refreshingly convulsive roaring. The wall-of-jumbled-chords-with-ruthlessly-stabbing-dissonance sections – not to mention the ominously obscure beginning of the second set - are way better. Test definitely passed, although not with flying colours. Available here.

HOPEN – Their Quasi-Homes Are Real Holes

Childe Grangier and Bruno Gillet are, respectively, a sound artist “influenced first by sounds (…as George Clooney would have it, what else?), daily noises and music experimentation from Zappa, Autechre, Luc Ferrari Subrosa label (…)” and a multi-instrumentalist credited with “guitar, drums, knives”. Go figure. This splendidly titled digital release (available at Everestrecords) is a pastiche made with literally myriads of snippets from the most disparate sources, including lo-fi shreds, cut-price field recordings and regular instruments filtered and equalized to transform their timbres into something which is perceived as “caressingly unrelated” to our senses. It’s a strange work, for different reasons. Although the general conception is not new, Hopen managed to find a number of interesting combinations and sequences that attribute a cinematic, but still investigational quality to the large part of the recording, which becomes well tolerable - when not completely involving - thanks to this outlandish unsettledness. One tends to forgive a few cheesy synthetic presets, only because they’re instantly raped and killed by additional intromissions of unsentimental acridness and infeasible paroxysmal lexicons; and indeed there is a Zappa rip-off somewhere (a brief section sounds exactly like the sped-up tapes in FZ’s “Revenge Of The Knick-Knack People”). Nevertheless, the anguishing dimension underlying the music – even during apparently peaceful instances – renders it deeper than its superficial look, and this is what ultimately influences the optimistic impression. My suggestion is to play this in “random” mode, at fair volume, from the speakers: certain weird resonances might do wonders in relation to your psychological setting.

By Ulrich Krieger, With Ulrich Krieger

What would this poor raconteur do without gentlemen like Herr Ulrich Krieger, saxophone master, who personally send their music in lieu of unwilling (or distracted, or linked to some unsympathetic individual) labels? Danke, Uli.

ULRICH KRIEGER – Up & Down 23

The composition is scored for four superimposed soprano saxophones, handled – of course – by Krieger. It is explained that playing the CD at the extremes of the audible range warrants the best consequence for this particular recording: soft volume to get a sort of microtonal ambient, loud for a deeper psychoacoustic experience characterized by adjacent tones, minimal shifts and subtly spurious vibration according to our position in the room during the playback. Either way, listening to this music results in a calming, comforting practice: the timbral textures modify their fundamental nature just slightly, in non-harmful fashion, and there aren’t surprises of any kind; yet a full hour flies away without us noticing, surrounded as we are by layers of contiguous pitches in different combinations – including solo sections – and several short moments of silence, especially at the beginning and end of the piece. I’ve read rather superficial hints to Phill Niblock’s influence on this work elsewhere but there’s not much here that might resemble, even remotely, an imposing accumulation of neighbouring frequencies such as those created by the minister of all drones, though some of those principles are indeed applied. Up & Down 23 is more of a study, a careful examination of the relations between emitted notes and resonating spaces. An alleviating, under no circumstance overwhelming listen. (B-Boim)

PURE NOISE / ART ZOYD STUDIO – Experiences De Vol #7

This release was received on a CDR and I couldn’t succeed in opening the files containing the liners. What I managed to gather by surfing the web is that the work is a new chapter in an ongoing project started in 2000 under the “Experiences De Vol” denomination. All that remains is describing the sonic content, which equals to say “read above”: noise, noise and again noise, of the thoroughly brutal variety, the kind of uproar which Merzbow would be envious of. Ulrich Krieger opens with possibly the most regimented track (so to speak), in which the saxophone is used as a generator of stormy rumbles in somewhat regulated perniciousness. Kasper T. Toeplitz follows with a rather musical crescendo of distorted droning, whose might is inversely proportional to the innovative qualities of the music, yet this is maybe the album’s best in terms of sheer aural gratification; very dominant indeed. Dror Feiler pulverizes the remnants of our auricular membranes with a lengthy, furious mega-blast that utilizes different gradations of acridness and rage to blow the socks off the listeners, who get caught without shelter by repeated fusillades of nasty substances that, once meshed, almost give an idea of quaking stasis. Other players involved are Carol Robinson, Laurent Dailleau, Jérôme Soudan, Erik Baron and Carl Faia. Overall, a perfect way for starting a litigation with the neighbours or abruptly shutting the communication channels up with your life partner. (Art Zoyd/In-possible)

Brief Autumnal Writeups

LEVEL – Opale

Translucent yet foggy ambient, ideally in the centre of a Eno/Satie/Basinski triangle, entirely constructed by Barry G. Nicholas (aka Level) with piano samples given to him by Linden Hale and Keith Berry, to which “digital touches and textures” that, according to the moment, enhance or just caress the pre-existing sounds were added. The composer declares that he willingly wanted to preserve the “original spirit of the source material”, and indeed the music's pianistic qualities remain mostly visible throughout. Nicholas does very well in maintaining a level (no pun intended) of gently overhanging sadness most everywhere, avoiding to go astray looking for transcendence, preferring instead to expand the listener’s breathing room through long reverbs, subtly wavering stasis and extremely palatable (and by no means sugary) melodic cells. A classic specimen of recording which is useful both for sheer listening purpose and as fleeting soundtrack for a moody evening, an appreciable concoction of sampled reminiscences and obliquely cuddling electronics. (Spekk)

ANDREY KIRITCHENKO – Misterrious

In the press release Kiritchenko says that his wish was to use acoustic flavours to create a “jazz record (my way of course)”. To do this, he utilized guitar, glockenspiel, mouth harmonica, autoharp, Tibetan bowls and objects, also calling Jason Kahn and Martin Brandlmayr to contribute with drumming in four of the nine tracks (one of them – “Untitled Inquietudes” – is quite fascinating). The compositions are – occasionally - tenderly engaging in an amiable minimalism, with slight echoes of early Tim Story in a couple of instances. Yet, after a short while, the artistic flimsiness is revealed in its meagre nudity: some of these basic sketches could be good enough for children at play but – the obvious sincerity in the initiator’s intention notwithstanding – their staying power might even be inferior to that level. I’d keep two or three chapters, and not without difficulty. If this was meant to be a moment of introspection, it didn’t come out represented that deeply. It’s all too easy and light, despite those much appreciated choirs of cicadas and crickets appearing here and there. A little humanity is fine with me, but serious music is another thing altogether. A jazz record??? (Spekk)

STEVE LACY / JOHN HEWARD – Recessional (For Oliver Johnson)

Although they knew each other since 1975, the pair managed to play together for the first time only on June 20, 2003 in Montréal, at the “Suoni Per Il Popolo” festival. This CD constitutes the certification of that meeting, which occurred exactly one year prior to the saxophonist’s death in 2004. Lacy employs the soprano exclusively, while Heward, besides drums, is also heard on African bells and kalimba. Mentioning the respect that should be given to artists of this calibre is obviously a prerequisite; in this specific circumstance we notice a few suggestions generated by the interplay, especially when Lacy becomes slightly impenitent in extemporaneous treatments of otherwise fairly compliant melodic materials, which he deviates to the point of intermittent waywardness, always with extreme elegance. Heward is discreetly mitigated throughout, mostly leaving the spotlight to the companion yet ever ready to make his presence count through a sensitive, if rather forthright percussive colouring. It might not be a milestone for the ages, but Recessional remains nevertheless an interesting document. (Mode Avant)

JOE MCPHEE / JOHN HEWARD – Voices: 10 Improvisations

Three years later – June 2006 – after the meeting between Heward and Lacy reviewed above, the percussionist (here on drums and kalimba) is found in equally excellent company, Joe McPhee translating fantasies, energies and improvisational zeal via pocket trumpet and – again – soprano saxophone. This sounds like a slightly livelier duet to these ears, which especially appreciate McPhee’s serenely delivered trumpet lines in “Improvisation 3”, symbols of a melodic prescience of sorts that nearly causes the listener to see in advance what the players are going to disclose. The (mildly) unrulier instances are also appealing, if not exactly innovative: perhaps more absorbing for a kind of modern tribal quality than for the effective insight revealed. There’s a feel of uncontaminated honesty that permeates the record, which lets us forgive a few spots where a tad of boredom kicks in, the artists seemingly trapped for a short while in a labyrinth of inescapable, inanimate routine that – for our good luck – is absolutely transitory in comparison to the ever perceptible soul that they own in copious doses. (Mode Avant)

HEMLOCK SMITH & LES POISSONS AUTISTES – Three Times Dead

Combined release from Swiss entities which lets us enjoy its (few) captivating impressions but not understand what, of diverse sides, is the right one. Avant-pop? Intimately “maudit” crooning? A crossbreed of two Davids (namely Bowie and Sylvian) immersed in now bucolic, now noisy soundtracks? Difficult to say. What’s certain is that excessive recitation in a record is not easily digested in this writer’s shelter, unless there’s a serious reason behind it; even less when the speaker/singer’s personality is not particularly exceptional, which is unfortunately the case of Michael Frei, deus ex-machina of Hemlock Smith (although I don’t really know if he’s the only vocalist here). Therefore, what remains is a handful of trailers of relatively low-budget “cinema for the ears” featuring intriguingly “atmospheric” instrumental sections made with, among other sources, bowed guitars, light bulbs and sampled monks. The rest is unnecessary talking and inconsistently theatrical posing, both inexorably leading to tedium. Too bad: this looks like a missed chance by people who certainly possess a suitable technical ground for growing more mature fruits than this. (Everestrecords)

Balloon & Needle Trio

HONG CHULKI / CHOI JOONYONG – Hum And Rattle

Apart from the nice U2 pun of the title, this record – entirely realized with a CD player and a turntable – brings an unrepentant, if somewhat moderate assault on the listener’s ears, subjected to an alternance of remorseless frequencies and episodes of extra-charged “tranquillity” for over 73 minutes. The protagonists manipulate their sources with expertise, obtaining uncommonly surprising sounds whose scope goes from ultrasonically acute stabs and extremely sharp interlocutions to quasi-silent segments where only through headphones we’re able to identify some sort of subterranean activity, often based on the exploration of audibility ranges that are better suited to dogs, cats and bats than humans (one can always improve, though). There’s a method to this music, which is why I particularly appreciate it: the performers are listening attentively even before releasing substances, which gives the idea of partially predetermined materials, although that’s probably not the case. There are abundant doses of pleasantly musical noise that, for once, implies a cleverly planned structure instead of exclusively introducing pain and tediousness, Chulki and Joonyong the representatives of an open-minded aural diplomacy that tends to leave exasperation aside in favour of an almost total sonic acceptability, disintegrated constituents notwithstanding. This release could be seriously cherished by those who welcome the products of Ferran Fages’ acoustic turntables. A well conceived, stimulating work.

JIN SANGTAE – Extensity Of Hard Disk Drive

Sangtae expresses himself through amplified hard disks, in case you missed it. This passion started fifteen years ago while working part-time at Yong-san electronic market, and he has tried both to increase the knowledge and enhance the techniques for making the machines work according to a musical sense. In certain circumstances the composer manages to achieve something that could be (very vaguely) defined as such, especially in terms of rhythmic pulse; yet the problem that is going to push a lot of people away from this CD, I suspect, is that many of the sounds produced are so unforgiving, so harsh, so intrinsically inharmonious that only a sadist might be willing to repeat the experience more than once. In truth there’s no actual music here, but a series of characterless mechanical events, some of them interesting, others just silly or plain dreary. I’m sorry to report that, in general, the contents of Extensity Of Hard Disk Drive are not remarkable enough to justify their release.

CHOI JOONYONG / HONG CHULKI / SACHIKO M / OTOMO YOSHIHIDE – Sweet Cuts, Distant Curves

Despite the above positive review of Hum And Rattle I’m not the least envious of artists expressing themselves with CD players and turntables these days; how can they find innovative ways of making music without producing the same results from a record to another? Most times a success is not waiting behind the corner, all those skip-click-fizz-and-buzz practices often turning into a litany for the destruction of the residual hopes of listening to a cleverly conceived recording. Luckily, this one (“recorded during Sachiko M and Otomo Yoshihide’s trip to Seoul for concerts organized by RELAY”) doesn’t belong to this category, especially in virtue of its rather interesting combinations of colours. This stuff is only for the well-versed, of course; not sure that the melange of maniacal sputtering, vituperation of harmonic construction, bizarrely hesitant oscillations and unsympathetic hiccups is going to appeal to those who love to hear some old-fashioned consonance in their wine-influenced evening sessions; in the final track, Otomo is even heard torturing an electric guitar. In general, nothing memorably new under the sun, although the sonic concoctions generated by this quartet tickle the nerves quite efficiently. With headphones on, in front of a muted TV set airing Criminal Minds, the session made for an experience halfway through occult encoding and electrophysiological stimulation. Alternatively, you may be willing to listen to Mozart or Vivaldi and get brainwashed for real.

Balloon & Needle

Old And Young Masters

ALLAN HOLDSWORTH / ALAN PASQUA / JIMMY HASLIP / CHAD WACKERMAN – Blues For Tony

Your reviewer saw the above quartet performing this repertoire in Rome about two and a half years ago, so what’s missing here is any factor of potential surprise. But there’s no question that lovers of old-fashioned jazz rock will have a ball with Blues For Tony, a 2-CD set dedicated to the memory of Tony Williams, Pasqua and Holdsworth having been a part of The New Tony Williams Lifetime halfway through the seventies. Favourites from that era such as “Fred” and “Proto Cosmos” are rendered with characteristically classy know-how – not that we had any doubt given the names involved – together with more recent individual compositions (Wackerman’s “The Fifth” and Pasqua’s “San Michele” the ones that mostly remain in mind) and long improvisations that might sound a little dated at times but are always imbued with a kind of passionate involvement that is becoming rare to see nowadays. Yet it’s the English guitarist who steals the show (and, as usual, my heart) in the opening section of “Pud Wud”, thanks to a series of magnificent chordal swells which constitute both a trademark and a symbol of this man’s exceptional harmonic vision. I’m still waiting for the day in which AH releases an album made exclusively of superimposed guitars: maybe road manager and label honcho Leonardo Pavkovic could try and convince the stubborn maverick from outer space to finally make his thirsty fan’s wish come true. (Moonjune)

JIM O’ROURKE – I’m Happy, And I’m Singing And A 1,2,3,4

Reissue of the namesake work from 2001 – in truth, among the less profound ones in the list of JO’R more experimental recordings – with a bonus disc containing additional material, which is obviously the only reason for obtaining a new copy of this item. The original remains a rather light-hearted nicety after eight years, its atmospheres ranging from Terry Riley-esque repetitions informed by lots of digital skipping and assorted kinds of technical malfunctioning utilized as a compositional means to the near-solemnity of the final “And A 1,2,3,4”, whose slow melodic arcs recall selected chapters from Stephen Scott’s bowed piano book (instead, O’Rourke doesn’t specify the sources for his music, which I agree with – mystery is OK in certain instances). The second CD is mainly characterized by the lengthy “Getting The Vapors”, almost forty minutes of mysterious, unfathomable drones fading in and out, intoxicating disquietude and oppressing anxiety eliminating any chance of use for meditation-with-incense purposes. It is also very pleasant to rediscover “He Who Laughs”, a composite piece full of “concretely oneiric” manifestations, stimulating electronics, marching bands surrounded by fog and unrestricted processing that had originally been issued on a limited edition vinyl on Neon Gallery, a rarity missed by many latecomers finally available again. While some of these tracks do not reach the same level of inner vibration typifying O’Rourke’s masterpieces – if you want to start with one, head straight to Long Night or Tamper – there’s enough meat here to keep your mind busy for days, complex reflections, disguised fears and the occasional humour typical of this composer all valid reasons for stopping doing other things and lend attention to sounds that might be loved or hated, but never appear conventional to these ears. (Editions Mego)

More Random Picks From The Long-Waiting 2008 Heap

I’ll try to be short and sweet (or, when applicable, concise and honest). Got to get rid of this persistent sense of guilt, you know.

CARESS OF MY FIST – Etudes In Violence

Basically, COMF is the duo of violinist Mike Khoury and reedist Fred Bergman typically supplemented by a third rotating element. In this disc there are two, percussionist Curtis Glatter and guitarist Chris Riggs. Despite the project and record’s names and the pugilistic aroma emanating from the track titles (such as “Sucker Punch” and “Knocked The Wind Out Of Me”), this music mostly consists of a kind of well-dressed, ear-pleasing improvisation, frequently scented with oriental essences yet not scared of treading more dissonant paths, without exaggerating in one sense or another. Khoury and Bergman - who in this case plays sax and flute - are rigorous respecters of the value of silence, avoiding condescension and verbose chit-chat in favour of few crucial concepts exposed with clarity and good doses of soul. Their partners appear as valid contributors throughout, enhancing the overall feel of barely perturbed composure via rather restrained footnotes, controlled discharges and, in general, intelligent coordination. Although slightly inoffensive at times, this is a fine enough album which comes lodged in an interesting hexagonal sleeve whose mechanism of closure, which results in a sort of complex flower, is a thing of beauty. (Cohort)

MARINA PETERSON / PHILLIP SCHULZE / JONATHAN CHEN / ANDREW RAFFO DEWAR – Quartet Solo Series

Different artists performing alone, according to a conceptual design comparing their efforts to four separate “albums” on one CD. Cellist Peterson – whose resume is undeniably impressive – didn’t make me overly enthusiast with her rather drained improvisations, “enhanced” by the usual means (paper, clips, sticks). Aside from a couple of instances where the percussive traits of the cello are exploited to give birth to interesting, if not groundbreaking resonant symptoms, the music remains pretty unexciting, too linked to certain (by now abused) aspects of acoustic modernity that privilege the clinical dissection of an instrument. It doesn’t always work, this being a classic case. Schulze’s “Cause Unfold Proceed II” is a half-improvised, half-composed electronic abstraction that presents several intriguing points of access, despite an apparent difficulty. The piece, although very fragmentary and undergoing a perennial atmospheric shift, results well connected to a fundamental plan and gifted with a biotic synchronization of sorts, detectable down to the tiniest component. A façade of coarse coldness hiding millions of purulent micro-organisms, no time for excessive thoughts and analyses, good stuff indeed. Another composition for electronics is presented by Chen, who in “Drummer” utilized a child’s drum set (snare, tom and bass drum) as an equalizing filter for the feedback generated by “independent system/amplifiers without the use of a limiter”. The result is a continuously droning superimposition of buzzes, quite minimal yet extremely functional (especially via headphones – I almost went to sleep while listening, such is the mind-numbing power of these frequencies). Last but not least, Raffo Dewar gifts us with two excellent pieces for soprano sax, in which he demonstrates a complete control of the instrumental nuances fused with an inherently clever, intuitively rational melodic diagram and an uncommon sensitiveness in terms of emitted note-environmental response-reaction to the environmental response. The man has studied with Steve Lacy and Anthony Braxton, and it shows. A fitting conclusion for a (predominantly) substantial release. (Striking Mechanism)

JEREMY BIBLE & JASON HENRY – Vryashn

For the enquiring ones, the title is a contraption of “Variation”. Bible and Henry are extremely active figures in the musical realm that encompasses concrete sounds and heavily processed instruments, alternating recordings and installations in a seemingly unstoppable productive quest. Yet this is, if memory serves, the first time I meet them. The record consists of two extended segments. Part 1 is principally constructed upon permanently stretched pianistic emissions immersed in long reverberation, with just a change in the equalization towards the end. A single movement repeated ad infinitum, like a marine ebb and flow. Not transcendental, but also not annoying, this is nearly perfect as a circumstantial sonic commentary for a documentary about the abyss (of what type, it remains to be seen). The opening section of the second chapter is replete with muffled echoes of inexplicable activities interspersed with powerful hums and – once more – lengthy resonances which seem to allude to some sort of hidden subaqueous universe. One detects distant pulses, metallic intromissions and whispered fears, then it’s undying piano – complemented by additional indistinct timbres - all over again. On the whole: neither bad nor exceptional stuff, the bonus being a couple of emotionally charged events that raise the overall value, this would have definitely worked better at half a hour or so. (Gears Of Sand)

MICHAEL GENDREAU – Voûtes

Another installation, another CD documenting its sonic behaviour. The premise is Rue Tolbiac in Paris, under which a “group of arc-shaped vaults” is located. Gendreau recorded the vibrations generated by the surrounding structures, which were used as a sort of preamble for the actual concert in that exhibition space. The audible outcome is, to be blunt, pretty dull: tedious as a depressing winter afternoon, monotonous like the sounds from a subway, a series of indistinct presences halfway through gurgling pipes and ghostly currents, repeating themselves without deviations. The live segment, taped by Eric Cordier, utilizes the first piece together with additional manipulations - both of the original source and the basic track itself - and is also barely motivating (in spite of the different placement of the microphones and the “variations” in the mix). I’m not lying when telling you that, at times, the boiler and the wind beneath the roof at my house produce more appealing music. Typical example of “better enjoyed on site than reproduced in a room”. (Cohort)

THE PUSH-PULL QUARTET – At The Stroke Of Twelve

Formed by Ben Miller (alto & c-tenor sax), Chris Welcome (guitar), Shayna Dulberger (upright bass) and John McLellan (drums), Push-Pull gravitate around the planet of downtown jazz – Lounge Lizards came to mind, if only occasionally – mixing a rather straightforward exploration of angularity with expressive issues deriving from older illustrious pasts. They mostly perform without excessive pressure yet, even considering the generally stress-free mood, their way of interlocking themes and improvisations is often characterized by good-humoured dissonant bad manners, constantly informed by timbral clarity: no squeaks and shrieks, just mild contrasts and acceptable disagreements. While Miller and Welcome seem to be reciprocally attracted on a semi-melodic level, and Dulberger and McLellan are all but a typical rhythm section given the apparent tendency to wander across hardly welcoming harmonic regions, hearing how the quartet is able to travel in unison then abandon themselves to a quasi-uneducated chiselling of improvisational divergence – stylishness be damned – is alone worth an attentive try. You won’t rejoice for a new revolution after that; still, At The Stroke Of Twelve remains a thoroughly enjoyable CD. (Tigerasylum)

MIKE KHOURY / WILL SODERBERG – Volumen Drei

Khoury’s violin against Soderberg’s processing (…and electronics? I couldn’t say, but it would seem so), creating a strange kind of music that alternates complete abstraction and more stable sections – the ones this writer prefers – where repetitive loops and impressively deployed spacious resonances spread around my room consistently even at moderate volume. Short and uncomplicated string fragments, often bordering on the pseudo-introspective side of things, get utterly modified and retransformed into scarcely palatable food for the psyche, bouncing and bubbling in constant alteration and total unpredictability. All sounds are surrounded by several strata of grime, sort of a perennially lurking distortion that renders the whole less decipherable. The flummoxing qualities of the large part of the CD are balanced by the above mentioned “peaceful” vistas, the union of these different facets conjuring up memories of electronic pioneers. Amidst romantic impracticality and incorrupt experimentation, these artists appear to have fun and contemplate at once, the outcome a bizarrely attractive record that I’ve already played various times, and which is not likely to become annoying anytime soon. A low-budget, minor classic that comes highly recommended if you wish to forget about illuminated nonentities and celebrate instead erratic contaminations by two eccentrically sterling purveyors of ear-gratifying arbitrariness. (Tigerasylum)

Two On Gears Of Sand

MIRKO UHLIG – Gyokuro

You can appreciate or detest the genre, taking extreme pleasure or getting outright bored when listening to repetitive melodies submerged by unfathomable resonances, thinking “this is great” or “this is rubbish”. But there’s no question that Mirko Uhlig’s music rarely sounds like someone else’s. Gyokuro is mainly based on undemanding reiterative figurations and essential looped progressions which go on and on, completely surrounded by a fog of ambiguity slightly blemished by a modicum of electronics. The titles of the six tracks form a phrase: “Do Birds Practice Their Songs While They Sleep In The Gardens Of Gyokuro”, my overall favourite being “While They”, a heartbreaking segment recalling a mermaid’s poignant chant as she listens to Wiliam Basinski. Utterly touching, we could meditate about life’s burdening troubles for hours only with this piece. On the whole, this is a deceptively simple offer that doesn’t seem to transmit so much at a first try; I urge everybody to persevere and play it twice, thrice, five times as a complex mechanism of reminiscence is revealed, which initially one didn’t suspect existing. Uhlig is a sensitive musician with solid roots, ever detectable in his consistently intriguing releases.

MATHIEU RUHLMANN – Fourteen Worms For Victor Hugo

There’s an interesting subplot behind this great CD, concerning – evidently - Victor Hugo and the conversations he claimed to have had with the Ocean, the Moon, Plato, Galileo and Jesus during the séances conducted after his daughter’s drowning in the Seine, through which the writer was trying to communicate with her. One of the “messages from the other side” described the four states of a return to Earth in the afterlife, which ideally depend on what kind of existence a being has lived in a previous incarnation: from stone/pebble to plant, to animal/insect, to human again. Mathieu Ruhlmann was ensnared by the concept of life existing in each state, so that “working with these objects you can extract this history sonically”. In any case Fourteen Worms is a gorgeous outing per se, the paradigm for those (unfortunately there are many) who would try and get involved in the sort of aural experience encompassing disparate sonic materials, environmental echoes, earthly matters, intelligent use of drones, in this particular circumstance sealed by a marvellously obscure closure via something that sounds like a looped segment of an ancient Asian folk song. Ruhlmann is able to generate spellbinding moods without indulging in special effects and arcane bells and whistles, ultimately confirming himself as a name to rely upon when a piece of well-composed evocativeness is all one wishes for little more than half a hour. A record that possesses emotional features, a rare commodity in this musical district today.

Gears Of Sand

Late October Quartet

Synthetic write-ups and brief considerations about a poker of CDs listened recently. The first three from Moonjune:

THE WRONG OBJECT – Stories From The Shed

Belgian quintet whose music crosses – very clearly - Zappa, Univers Zero and a number of jazz-rock influences, fusing them in a highly pleasurable concoction. Not a lot of innovation therefore, yet it doesn’t matter: these guys can definitely play, able as they are of extricating themselves from the most complex entanglements of odd-metered rhythms, intertwined riffs, slanted counterpoints (the dialogues between saxophonist Fred Delplancq and trumpeter Jean-Paul Estiévenart are particularly stimulating) and, in general, a punkish vibe which does no damage. Guitarist Michel Delville alternates furious overdrive and semi-sparkling clean tones, underlining with beautiful chords the calmer circumstances; the rhythm section, consisting of bassist Damien Polard and drummer Laurent Delchambre, is creatively solid yet not mechanically strict, guaranteeing flexibility and steady pulse throughout. Great CD, reminiscent of the best progressive from the 70s with a contemporary edge that comes extremely welcome. Instead of paying attention to people who pretend to be at the forefront of novelty but can’t touch an instrument, it is much better giving room to entities such as The Wrong Object, who fearlessly try and maintain certain kind of musical values still palatable even after a (presumed) expiration date. Modern-day retro, anyone?

GEOFF LEIGH / YUMI HARA – Upstream

I was glad to find Geoff Leigh in a new recording since, after the great work in one of my all-time overall favourite albums (namely Henry Cow’s Legend) and an album in duo with Frank Wuyts, I had lost trace of his activities. Well, if this is what he is doing now better living with the memories. The incontestable technical brilliance of this multi-instrumentalist virtuoso (here active on flute, soprano sax, zither, percussion, nose flute, voice drone and electronics) is definitely plagued by two factors. The first is the absolute shortage of attention-grabbing aspects in the improvisations, which for the large part sound rather stale, without a real direction, excessively immersed in electronic treatments. The second, sorry for being unsophisticated, is Hara: apart from a couple of more contemplative instances in which she limits herself in textural accompaniments (both with voice and keyboards), her pseudo-ritualistic chanting – especially in the central bulk of the CD – is not just boring, but plain annoying. Perhaps the only really nice moments are the initial title track and the final “The Siren Returns”, which keep things in a context of relative soberness; most of what's left is experimentation that didn’t work at best, and an utterly exasperating listen at worst.

HUGH HOPPER – Numero D’Vol

The late, great Hugh Hopper in company of another stalwart – Charles Hayward on drums – and the previously unknown to me Simon Picard (sax) and Steve Franklin (keyboards). Eleven chapters halfway through a pretty stereotyped jazz-rock and a very slight measure of improvisational experimentation, effects and processing often utilized in those contexts (at times excessively, one would say). Unfortunately there are several low points to discuss. First of all, a huge difference in personality and instrumental consistency between the two couples: throughout the CD I felt as if Hopper and Hayward were dragging the whole thing, while Picard is – sincerely – a honest employee of the saxophone who didn’t manage to produce emotions for a minute and Franklin appears as a rather ordinary keyboardist. Then, the music itself: apart from a few occasions in which the vibe is a little more animated (so to speak) the majority of the tracks sound like pretexts for noodling without excessive enthusiasm, the latter sensation easily transmitted to a somewhat perplexed listener. Scarcely momentous riffs, irresolute solos, you get the picture. Not too much to exult for in this dull album.

The fourth on Audiobulb:

ULTRE – The Nest And The Skull

Ultre is a nom d’art for Finn McNicholas, who works with acoustic instruments such as piano and guitar, electronics and “homemade beats” (hand claps, finger snaps, hitting objects from his apartment, etc). Seaming together tiny snippets and loops of easy melodies and arpeggios with excited zeal, he generates a peculiar brand of contaminated instrumental techno-pop which sound quite sugary at times yet doesn’t lack in intriguing occurrences. The good news is the (relative) originality of the proposal which - especially at the beginning - sounds fresh enough, even enjoyable, giving us a chance to tap our feet and nod for a while. The bad is that, after fifteen minutes or so, the compositional techniques appear a little too similar from a track to another, thus attributing a thin patina of repetitiveness to an otherwise rather agreeable recording. Still, there are enough lovely incidences to keep things alive, and the tolerable extent of the program helps in not getting bored. For a couple of listens this can stay but, at the end of the day, it’s unmemorable stuff.

A Couple Of Loose Torques With Nick Stephens And Jon Corbett

Bassist Nick Stephens’ Loose Torque imprint publishes fresh documents involving himself and his companions, typically improvised sessions – live or in the studio. The man is always so exquisite to regularly send me new releases. These two are not exactly “new”, though - but more will arrive soon and I’ll be here reviewing them, too (thanks, Nick!).

JON CORBETT / NICK STEPHENS / ROGER TURNER – Dangerous Musics in ‘91

This incarnation of Dangerous Musics (originally started in 1987) included trumpeter Jon Corbett (here doubling on valve trombone) and percussionist Roger Turner. The record comprises five tracks recorded in Turner’s flat in 1991 and a 36-minute live set whose cassette was found “down the back of the sofa” by Corbett, date and venue unknown. The trio plays a sparkling, fizzling variety of scarcely regulated jazz characterized by an ever-present sense of humour, magnifying divertissement-based traits and excluding bad vibes completely. They can also bang quite heavily, but the preferred mood is one of deceiving breeziness which in reality hides a solid technical dexterity, appreciable even by the non-experts (such as my wife, who liked certain parts of this CD a lot, and definitely is not a fan of this kind of music). Corbett acts as the loquacious talker, his phrases often spikier than a porcupine yet at the same time so sweet to listen to; Stephens counters with humble savoir faire, ready to roar more aggressively when needed. Turner rolls atypically and splashes happily, maintaining persuasive methods of engaging the listeners while drumming at the opposite of what might be anticipated. Fresh, invigorating stuff without any counter indication.

THE SEPTEMBER QUARTET – What Goes Around…

Add Paul Dunmall (tenor sax and saxello) and Tony Marsh (drums) to the Corbett/Stephens duo and here’s The September Quartet. What Goes Around… contains fairly recent recordings (2006) for a somewhat less effervescent result, despite the presence of one of my favourite saxophonists. Although the quality of the playing is first-rate your scribe was not able to excessively celebrate for this, sniffing a little lack of involvement on several occasions - or maybe it was a smidgen of tiredness. The instrumental nuances and the overall adroitness are obviously estimable, but melodic novelty is what this listener was missing the most, implicit feasibilities and barely hinted deviations working only just at times. Dunmall and Corbett try reciprocal engagements repeatedly, with mixed results - sporadically absorbing (as in certain sections of “One Thing Leads To Another”) or merely normal. Stephens and Marsh possess class to spare, yet sometimes that’s not enough. The interplay remains absolutely intelligible throughout, which is a plus. So, what’s wrong, I ask myself. Nothing really “wrong” indeed, because these people produce serious music even in their lesser creative junctures; still, there are quite a few instances in which a tentativeness of sorts - almost bordering on uncertainty - about the direction to follow was perceived. This caused the enthusiasm level to dwindle time and again, various portions of the improvisations sounding more as an elegant kind of indecisive effort than crucially inventive. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be that way, after all. You know what? Better concentrate on the single instrumentalists as opposed to the collective playing. Absurd, but reasonably effective.

Two With Christian Munthe On Tyyfus

My first time with this Swedish guitar rapist, both releases published by this on-the-edge Finnish label. Mixed feelings, as you will see. Thanks to Matti, Sami and all the rest of the Northern crew for these.

ANDERS DAHL & CHRISTIAN MUNTHE – Several Kinds Of Ground

Lively and truly captivating duets for acoustic guitar and electronics, enriched by a gorgeous cover photo showing a section of ground with its different textures and gradations, as per the album’s title. The erosion of timbre, the bitter nudity of the exchanges, the ability of creating appreciable music from what frequently appears as sheer noise are but a few of the qualities of this CD. The musicians mostly remain on the dirty-and-gritty side of things, their instruments hinting to new visuals of a kind of grouchy-yet-pleasurable improvisation which leaves lots of welcome breathing space despite the often frantic temperament of the pieces. Dahl’s electronic apparatuses hiss, pop and snarl while dismantling any idea of sophistication, as Munthe utilizes the whole spectrum that his axe offers to emphasize the muddiest passages and, in dissipated attitude, give some spark to a rusty tissue of involuntary convergences. It all sums up to an extremely fresh recording which sustained our attention entirely, full as it is of sharp discussions deprived of any gloss or patina.

CHRISTIAN MUNTHE – The Backside Suite

The record was completely played on the reverse side of an acoustic guitar, battered with all kinds of objects and bodily parts and secretions (one hopes that it was a cheap brand). That’s right – the man also spits on the instrument, obtaining squeals, wet kisses, gurgles and other assorted stomach-churning noises by rubbing and maybe sucking the saliva-drenched wood. Apart from this somewhat disgusting practice – I’ll never spit on my instruments, much less put the tongue on them – what’s contained in The Backside Suite could be OK if the program lasted half a hour instead of over 62 minutes as it is. Some of the hues that the guitarists manages to generate are indeed interesting, although knocking, picking, finger-tipping and letting things roll on the guitar body is an archetypal case of “been-there-done-that”. After a while one would like to hear more than this and the tracks starts sounding similar, in spite of the diverse approaches that Munthe attempts. Accordingly, treat this disc as an oddity - and not even that startling.

Opposites Do Attract (Slight Return)

I love music - don’t hate it. I love it in all its genuine forms. Check these two exquisite CDs, which your early-morning snitch listened back-to-back and is now proceeding to relate about.

HAMAYÔKO – Retronica

Yôko Higashi is a quite unique spirit, and listening to her halfway-through-rags-and-riches acousmatic hotchpotches is becoming a gratifying rendezvous on a regular basis. In Retronica, we find ourselves surrounded by the well-dressed multidirectional anarchy that this girl has grown us used to, full of malformed speeches and uttered grunts, pitch-transposed atonal chanting, warped-to-death samples, spiteful distortions and paroxysmal rhythms. But what’s instantly noticeable by now is the enrichment of the compositional traits of the music from a record to another, always granting additional points in my scorecard: the nine tracks, despite the myriads of apparently extraneous sounds (even slightly distressing sometimes, gunshots and agonizing vocal emissions belonging to the recipe), demonstrate a preparative work that probably took a long time before the definitive permission to publish them. Or maybe this was all done in a couple of afternoons, who knows. In 33 minutes of harmonic bedlam I couldn’t hit upon a weak point, a brilliantly organized mess that ultimately privileges positivity to annihilation. Aurally stimulating, cleverly efficient, theatrical in the right moments, this is possibly hamaYôko’s finest outing to date. (Entr’acte)

RONNIE BOYKINS – The Will Come, Is Now

Ronald Boykins was the regular bassist for Sun Ra from 1958 to 1966, and – more sporadically – to 1974. One year later he finally responded positively to ESP’s Bernard Stollman’s request, 11 years prior (!), of recording a solo album. Here we have the reissue of that effort, which will remain his lone trace as a leader until an early demise in 1980 following a heart attack. Despite the attendance of three saxophonists (Monty Waters, Joe Ferguson and James Vass – the latter two also doubling on flute) and a trombonist (Daoud Haroom), the record’s temperament is initially delineated by the foreground presence of percussionists Art Lewis and George Avaloz, who characterize and highlight Boykins’ nearly obsessive vamping quite heavily in the lengthy title track. The principal’s work with arco is especially poignant in “Starlight At The Wonder Inn”, while the reeds get their deserved spots in the light during the splendidly chaotic, yet perfectly comprehensible arrangement of the brisk “Demon’s Dance” and in the mysteriously oblique slow walk that typifies the intro to “Dawn Is Evening, Afternoon” before the band starts swinging for the fences. “Tipping On Heels” make me feel like listening to a childhood scented radio program, moving rapidly without uncertainties, sounding wonderfully dusty. The conclusive extended improvisation - “The Third I”, another seriously percussive episode - might have aged a little worse, but this does not detract from the utter fascination that this music causes. Pure pleasure for wistful ears like mine. (ESP)

Opposites Attract (Well, Maybe)

One could not juxtapose more different releases than these two. Sometimes is good to completely change perspective from a record to another as it keeps the mind fresh, delivering it from the mechanisms of expectation that typically introduce fossilization. Also interesting is the combination between old style/prosperous orchestration and new style/near-nakedness.

GRAHAM COLLIER – Directing 14 Jackson Pollocks

A double album by the (reasonably) ebullient Collier on his own Jazzcontinuum imprint, based on two live recordings from 1997 and 2004. The title comes from Gill Fisher’s description of the latter concert, the composer “casually strolling around the stage, giving directions to these fantastic musicians by hand signals..”. There’s only one recent piece, “The Vonetta Factor”; the rest consists of newly arranged revisiting of previous favourites. Artists like this British educator (in every sense) are the kind of figure that totally exterminates my necessity of cold analysis of a record, in favour of “going with the flow” and just enjoying the evening. A fusion of pre-planned architectures and regulated freedom allowing each soloist a spot under the sun yet never transcending into pandemonium, which lets us appreciate the lucid vision of a man that, together with people such as Mike Westbrook and Keith Tippett, has contributed to create a typical sound that for many aspects is our favourite brand of jazz, alternating hints to traditional schemes and a still-modern outlook on how a score should be interpreted by refined performers. Music that sounds nonconformist and time-honoured at once, showing a nice conversancy with the material by the involved participants (among them Jeff Clyne, Harry Beckett, Chris Biscoe, Geoff Warren, John Marshall, Oren Marshall – see what I’m talking about). At times the cylinders take a while to start firing, some imprecision and a couple of not perfectly coordinated executions perceptible in certain sections, especially during the first part of “Forty Years On”. But when the wheels get spinning for real – as in a pair of great blue-tinged tracks, “Mackerel Sky, An Alternate Blues” and “The Alternate Third Colour: Old Blues”, mere examples of a collective virtuosity heard most everywhere – that’s the moment in which you have to raise the volume level up, and applaud.

NARTHEX – Formnction

A prove-nothing experiment revolving around a complex procedure – which definitely won’t be repeated here – through which saxophonist Marc Baron and double bassist Loïc Blairon generated two 30-minute segments, one made with the sounds of their real instruments, the other obtained by substituting the actual sonic occurrences with frequencies of 1000 and 500 Hz. The latter version constitutes the first partition of the album and is an utter bore, sounding like a joke at the expense of the audience. Beeps and silences – lengthy silences – for half a hour. The second part is surely superior, the expert listener at least perceiving the “breath” of the playing despite the small number of notes and the interminable moments of absence of everything. A couple of long-held tones by Baron acted interestingly with my momentary position (walking in the room while listening is fine, better still if you don’t care about the compositional poverty of the pieces), whereas the tiny manoeuvres and percussive connotations used by Blairon on the bass are mainly forgettable. A thunderstorm broke out as yours truly was intent in understanding what’s so special in this music to be released by Potlatch – usually a label that publishes more important stuff - and literally saved the day: the interaction between the rumble and this writer’s sense of doubt amidst sparse (and largely inconsequential) pitches and disinterested thuds let me conclude the experience with a sigh. This is not an ugly record; just a neutral, undemonstrative thing. Which is even worse. File under “I’ll probably never listen to this again”.

Afe Triplet

Afe Records is a label of contemporary electronica and post-ambient materials run by Andrea Marutti which released a few veritable gems in the past.

TIZIANO MILANI – Im Innersten

Milani is an “acoustic architect” from Vercurago, a small town in the northern area of Italy characterized by the placid waters of Lecco’s Lake, around which wonderful landscapes unfold. I thought I’d mention this because, despite the myriads of occurrences typifying it, his music seems to reflect the calmness of a long walk in the country, perhaps along a river (or, why not, a lake…) barely broken by the minute incidences that insect life, or bird talking, introduce in the overall tranquillity. Yet Im Innersten comprises many elements whose derivation is far from bucolic, their superimposition generated through complex processes that, in the composer’s words, create “a continuous flux where all events coming from a different origin interact, so that each of them contains all the others in itself”. To realize these delightfully unsolved textures, a computer processed pre-amplified omnidirectional sources captured by a microphone in a reverberating room. This is not a typical ten-second-Lexicon-Hall album hiding absence of ideas, though. In this circumstance, we’re satisfied by a sonic heterogeneity based upon familiar presences mildly enhanced by an intelligent use of electronics. It’s a quiet, but not boring series of electroacoustic interactions in which found sounds, electronic radiations and normal instruments generate an ear-rubbing cloth that appears trademarked by names such as Paul Schütze and Ralf Steinbrüchel, even if Milani successfully strives to maintain a trait of individuality. A clever work, dappled that necessary much to prevent wearisomeness from kicking in, elegantly gratifying and - especially in the final track “From Order To Border” – causing interesting reactions in the mechanisms of memory.

FHIEVEL – Pipe Smoking On A Balloon

This outing epitomizes the necessity, for many people, of avoiding like plague the fact of having someone else trying to describe their efforts, especially if those who do are translating from an indigenous idiom without understanding that certain subtleties are required in an international language. On the press release of this disc by Luca Bergero/Fhievel there’s a hilarious illustration (also available on Afe's website if you need a good laugh) penned by a Manuele Cecconello whose error-infested preposterous imagery – derived by the literal transposition of Italian into English, which is the best way to appear as a loon sometimes – certainly doesn’t help an album that makes of its modesty a salient trait. So let’s put an end to artificial grammar complications (how peacock-ish a difficult terminology is, huh? There are lots of traps under the smoke and the mirrors of pointlessness) and concentrate on the music, which in this occasion is not too hard. The record – a reissue of a 50-copy limited edition originally on the Polish imprint Um/Ko - is quite simple indeed, juxtaposing caressing minimal electronica (you know, easy melodic fragments and quivering pulsations that sound “humanly normal”) and spurious noises of the rustle/interference/white noise derivation. This goes on, more or less evenly, for circa 37 minutes exclusive of any sort of surprise, in pleasingly calm fashion. Not a masterpiece for the ages, not at all, but definitely something that’s not harmful to the ears and, in some instances, even agreeable despite the superficial glimmering. It works adequately at medium volume with no disproportionate application, letting the wavering and the throbbing do the work minus intellectual pretences. Still, this is a classic case of “listened-archived-forgotten in a week” CD. Significance lies elsewhere.

JOHN HUDAK – Miss Dove Mr. Dove

Intended by the composer as “background/sound music”, this album was made with software treatments of previously recorded sounds of doves, the birds captured in 2007 in a small town in the Czech Republic, where Hudak and family were visiting their relatives. I’m not really sure about what to say. As much as I have a measure of respect for this artist, because the sincerity (often bordering on naïveté) that he puts in his work is palpable, there’s not a lot to be excited for here. Almost a whole hour of casually deployed micro-peeping, interesting for a while but, with the passage of time, becoming rather tiresome in its semi-anarchic design. The general sonority equals picking electric guitar strings in the overacute register and applying a tiny degree of slide, oscillation and acceleration to the deriving figurations. Undersized bleeps, atonal whistling, thin powders, you get the point. One could shout that this is real minimalism, yet this definition cannot be applied as – per Hudak’s indications – we should not pay accurate attention to what happens. Then again, an entrancing repetition would ideally determine some sort of enhanced awareness. Instead, this stuff is very likely to annoy those who are not well-versed in this kind of experimentation, and maybe even a few who are. This man has definitely given us better things in other occasions.

Memories Of Mr.23 (The Alfred Harth Chronicles)

TRIO TRABANT A ROMA – State Of Volgograd

FMP

Lindsay Cooper, Alfred 23 Harth and Phil Minton were members of the Oh Moscow venture, which – prior to this recording – had touched Volgograd during a Russian tour. In particular, Cooper and Harth were so bewildered - both by the visited cities and the divergence between those microcosms and the Western Culture (pun intended) – that, once returned, they were still feeling like “being in another state, a State Of Volgograd”. The triumvirate, formed by the Frankfurter in 1990 following an invitation by the Budapest Festival, owes its designation to the namesake cheap car manufactured in East Germany, which began to appear outside those borders subsequently to the Berlin Wall’s crumbling in 1989. To quote the originator, “… Trabant is also a word for a planet orbiting a star (…) Earth was under a new ‘orbital tent’ after the iron curtain came down. It was funny to see these odd eastern cars undertaking even long-distance trips through Europe - and, ultimately, all roads lead to Rome”.

Disgracefully, this small ensemble was short-lived; yet State Of Volgograd – the solitary official release – shines among the unconditional masterpieces of improvisational skill, a career landmark for everybody involved. Starting the 90s, Cooper’s multiple sclerosis was already taking a heavy toll, gradually making impossible for her to perform live; obviously, Oh Moscow dissolved, the last concert at 1993’s London Jazz Festival. Harth – as per Vladimir Tarasov’s words – became “as famous as Michael Jackson” in Russia’s avant-garde scene over lengthy periods of clandestinely smuggled records in “hidden narrow holes” before the Soviet Union’s collapse. A TV feature on him, Balance Action, was then realized by a local station. Indeed the relationship linking A23H with that part of the globe has always been pretty special (he went on to form QuasarQuartet, with Tarasov, in 1992).

But Trio Trabant A Roma stood apart from anything else. Three masters of the respective crafts in a setting that, quite impressively, leaves the individual silhouettes easily discernible while defining their union as one of the finest collectives carved in your reviewer’s memory. This recital, captured at Esslingen’s Dieselstrasse in 1991, testimonies about several truths. First, that Cooper, Harth and Minton are rare symbols of multiform instrumental enlightenment. Besides the habitual tools – yes, Minton’s voice is the quintessential human synthesizer – they shared piano duties; Cooper handles bassoon (listen to the marvellous phrasing in the initial minutes of “Orbital Tent”), electronic effects and sopranino, Harth tampers with various kinds of saxes, bass clarinet, melodica, sopranino, Farfisa organ and a Casio sampler. The record, in general, is informed by an intelligent use of technology, especially inventively warped sampling and discreet looping.

The tracks span across a number of moods and circumstances, nourishing an immediately identifiable temperament throughout. Minton sounds slightly more restrained than usual, alternating customary intrusions (the utter destruction of the melancholic tranquillity that opens “Et All Ways Budapest” is a gas indeed) to quasi-blues echoes and heartrending excursions halfway through pygmy chanting and mournful lamentation. To this day his duet with Harth in “Strasbourg Et Amor Trans’n’Dance” belongs in the top ten of my all-time favourite improvisations, suddenly turning into unachievable abstruseness replete with misshapen harmonic connections and excruciating grief, Cooper and 23 superimposing pitch-transposed, looped-and-modified lines over Minton’s drunken crooning in stunning fashion. The whole album is a glorification of total musicianship and an ode to reciprocal listening permeated by equal doses of joy, sorrow and childish astonishment, the musicians catching a glimpse of that “unknown something” which is usually obstinately ignored by the average instrumentalist, almost forgetting the qualities of technical development to run behind colourful butterflies of instant creation. The terzetto delivers in spades, creating music that – in absolutely spontaneous conceptions – is sweetly dissident, utterly immobilizing, restlessly strong, consistently pensive, and nonetheless so amusing.

That the material result this original to our ears 18 years from the taping is the revelation of a haunting permanence, a typical trait of significant art. Brief existence notwithstanding, Trio Trabant A Roma must be placed in a hypothetical Hall Of Fame of sonic originality. A combined vision that, now as then, guides the listener to a superior level of interaction with the unusual acoustic phenomena that only certain ambits of musical exploration can elicit.

Greg Mills On Freedonia

As it happens, this afternoon I picked up randomly from the enormous pile of last year’s records that are still waiting for a review, retrieving a couple of absolute gems in the process. Freedonia is run by Jay Zelenka, who in August (of 2008…) had sent me a letter which described the artistic intentions of this “micro-label”: “to promote contemporary musical endeavours and to preserve vintage recordings that are out of print or were never released”. Together with the missive there were two CDs by pianist Greg Mills who – like all musicians involved with this imprint – is based in St. Louis, the “geographic unifying factor” of the enterprise. Mills is a technically gifted architect of the Steinway, a classical grounding manifest since the first moment one hears him playing; these are the only works published under his name to date.

Esfoma was originally conceived in 1984 yet it sounds unmarked by the passage of time and totally gratifying, characterized as it is by a kind of passionate expressiveness corroborated by digital nimbleness and thoughtful artistry. This is the album that probably will satisfy the listeners who want to enjoy more harmonic content and less experimentation (although rarely the man leaves us without a serious attempt to transcend the barriers of genres). The composer/improviser himself lists the influences that lie behind these five pieces: Charles Ives, Cecil Taylor, Indian raga, 20th century European serialism, Karlheinz Stockhausen. Blue Oktober, recorded in 1998, saw the light eight years later; its subtitle is “improvised compositions for piano: solo, duos, trios and percussion”. Mills used tapes of live concerts as a basis, to which he added instant overdubs, capturing the whole in a single take. A superior stage of pianism is in this case showcased in shorter episodes and contrasting snippets, and parts of the program might result slightly difficult to digest for the scarcely trained. This record, too, is a magnificent example of clever improvisational craft, in a way appearing as the ideal complement for the contrapuntal lusciousness that characterizes the majority of Esfoma.

I would definitely recommend to get a copy of both releases for better understanding the creative vision of this musician, whose dedication to the instrument is evidently visceral. A rare occasion in which the listener can be gratified either by an attentive, concentrated examination of the material or by keeping it at lower volume while maintaining the same sort of enchantment, such is the sheer delight originated by the mere presence of those gorgeous runs, clusters and designs which – even in the knottiest sections – seem to be influenced by a touch of romantic melancholy. This is what attributes a unique voice to Mills, a hitherto obscure talent that must be brought to wider attention worldwide, a veritable rejuvenator for those who feel tired of listening to problematic albums just for the sake of belonging to certain circles of (a)pathetic intellectualism. This stuff reconciles with life by respecting the true aim of music: something that’s played from the heart, received by sensible human beings, able to elevate them that tiny bit indispensable for carrying on through the mental and emotional poverty experienced daily. Something that’s plain beautiful.

Absurdities

Difficult to imagine a brand whose sonic output is more variegated than Nicolas Malevitsis’ Absurd (and related sub-labels). You can integrate these short reviews by visiting this website, further details and a lot of additional interesting things available for the reading appetite of the most curious.

AL MARGOLIS & DAN BURKE – Live April 5, 2008

More If, Bwana than Illusion Of Safety, this recording captured at Le Bonheur in Brussels is a classic meeting of low-key geniuses interested in the generation of pseudo-static electroacoustic miasmas where silence is banned and fluctuating muck that slowly turns into barely repressed rage is a given. Music that starts from near-immobility to accumulate tarnished layers and myriads of loops replete with human imperfection, radioactive pollution, labyrinthine inhospitableness and not-too-effusive contemplation. The core tissue is at times augmented by unexpected reed-and-whistle-driven predicaments (electric guitars, also?) manifesting puzzlingly upon a foundation of metropolitan textures, the whole thoroughly informed by artistic rectitude. At the end of the day, the pastiche sounds galvanizing and entrancing at one and the same time, each new listen revealing additional particulars which contribute to the sense of consistency that the performance in its entirety exudes.

LARRY GUS – Iasmos

By looking at the lovely cover artwork – a childish collage made of a sketched train with the protagonist and a lot of beautiful children’s faces stuck on it – we realize that this is not exactly hard-to-swallow music. In fact, the recording is described as a “memento for the second birthday party of Orion which took place at Iasmos, on Saturday, April 15, 2008”. Although the large part of the explanations are in Greek (therefore incomprehensible for me), I suppose that the miniatures presented by Gus - which range from cheap-yet-effective minimalism to pleasantly superficial electronic disjointedness interspersed with taped fragments from the very shindig – were mainly conceived utilizing the toy instruments visible on the CD sleeve, with a slight measure of ensuing manipulation. Some parts of this are quite congenial to the ears, other segments are just a waste of time. It lasts 32 minutes, no serious damage in any case.

RAIONBASHI – In Teufel’s Küche

Unacquainted with Raionbashi and currently deprived of internet at home (ah, the joy of inexistent technical assistance in rural areas…) I set myself to listen to this 10-inch without any kind of prejudice. First of all, I played In Teufel’s Küche at 33 rpm despite not knowing if that was correct (it worked OK). The music appears to be mostly constructed via tape manipulation, human components definitely present (slowed-down breathing, warped mutterings and so on). This mix of bodily modification and unspecified instruments is prepared with a certain degree of consideration, not sounding as a bunch of illogical events but apparently following a scheme, several of these previews of transience even fascinating in their complete indescribability. There are looping accelerations, murky signs of instability, gurgling stomachs of some sort of evil creature, the whole constantly permeated by an impending sense of hopeless despoliation. Sinisterly unsettling stuff, well made if a little rough on the edges.

ANTOINE CHESSEX – Terra Incognita

Wonderful artwork and great music, a complete package indeed from Antoine Chessex who – armed with amplified saxophone and electronics – produced a fine album of blasting violence that sounds a little more “educated” and, to some extent, controlled in respect to certain recordings I’ve heard from him. This LP runs at 33 rpm on a side and at 45 on the other (you have to drop the needle where the grooves really begin, halfway through face B) but I had to discover it by looking at the tiny details engraved in the vinyl itself. Massive distortion a go-go, with just a few interruptions (a single sax note is left lingering at one point, unbelievably for this French warmonger) and sections – in truth lasting mere seconds, such as at the record’s start – in which the unaccompanied electronics diffuse a somewhat entrancing aroma, then it’s scorching mayhem all over. Borbetomagus, Merzbow, make room for this gentleman. Among the best noise releases in a long time, the right adjective is “pulverizing”.

Down-To-Earth Spirits, One Way Or Another

CELER – Brittle

Having remained alone, Will Long is not showing any sign of relenting from publishing material, either new or archival, an output whose level of proliferation is directly proportional to a consistent depth. What’s great is that - contrarily to what typically happens in this field (a successful release authorizing its originator to flood the market with useless outings) – Celer’s music is becoming better with the passage of time, which is usually the indicator of a serious personal and artistic growth. Brittle doesn’t need many words to be described, and indeed the composers themselves individuate the hypothetical effect on the listener as one of “warm comfort”, which is exactly what occurs with these subtly influencing humming superimpositions, born from modifications of piano, violin, cello, tingsha bells, harpsichord and whistle. Will and Dani transform the naked sounds of regular instruments into an inspection of recondite needs, always finding a way to generate emotional reverberations that don’t require added sugar to manifest their efficacy. Subdued reflections caressing our lives for about 50 minutes, a wonderfully unassuming company that represents much more than sheer “ambient” (although Brian Eno should be proud of these young heirs). (Low Point)

ANDREW CHALK & DAISUKE SUZUKI - In Faxfleet Clouds Uplifted Autumn Gave Passage To Kind Nature

Additional news from Chalk and Suzuki via a 12-inch EP whose sleeve’s artwork is, purely and simply, a fabulous thing to gaze at. The sides are completely different in terms of musical content. “Queen Of Heaven”, especially at moderate volume, is very easy on the ears and mind-relaxing, consisting of contiguous harmonic washes and mild colours (possibly generated from superimposed guitars and keyboards), a gently swelling permanence characterizing the whole piece, which is atypically “present” despite its temperate mood, all elements well-visible as opposed to just perceivable. “Of Beauty Reminiscing” and “The Water Clock” make use of Suzuki’s field recordings, juxtaposing them with subtler droning gradations and sparse touches of piano (supposedly by Vikki Jackman) in a somewhat more essential exploration of a few precious moments of tranquillity. One is always sure that every release coming from these artists corresponds to an object to cuddle and treasure – visually, musically, or both. (Faraway Press)

HITOSHI KOJO – Ezo

This 10-inch constitutes my first meeting with Kojo, a man who seems very interested in the spiritual aspects of things – including sonorous found objects, which is what he deals with in Ezo. In the sleeve notes (splendid artwork, by the way) one notices a thanking of Michael Northam, so I was hoping to find something along those coordinates – human frailty against natural elements in remote places, you get the picture. Instead, the noise – more or less harsh, at times layered in “contrapuntal” fashion – of the above mentioned objects remains the main character throughout, the focus almost completely centred on the abrasive qualities of metals. For the large part, this amounts to a poor man’s version of Organum bathed in lengthy reverberations. Despite the appreciable attitude shown by its engenderer this record didn’t manage to raise any emotional response, nor it can be analyzed as a serious experiment. Musical significance lies somewhere else. (Alluvial)

Ode To Byron Coley’s Creative Writing (And Extraordinary Patience)

Wire readers know who Byron Coley is. For the unaware, he’s among the most intelligently ironic music writers around, a unique figurative method enabling him to perfectly describe the content of a 7-inch with just a few words. And even if one is not acquainted with the featured artists, that style is enough to enjoy his “Size Matters” page very much. In this occasion your raconteur decided to try and “do a Coley” (minus the talent) and write brief reviews of (almost) all the 7-inches received from 2007 to yesterday. That said, let it be known that – contrarily to Mr. Coley - I DON’T LIKE 7-INCHES. If you want to throw them at me anyway, please email before doing it as this is the format that comes last in my reviewing priorities (unless they come as CDR copies, that is – I hate flipping sides every three minutes). Therefore, this roundup should not encourage anyone to forward more of those small vinyl items. The piece was typed out of respect of those who were so nice to send the stuff, yet there are better ways to spend four hours in a morning (pardon the sincerity).

First of all, a handful on Drone:

MURMER – In Their Home And In Their Heads. Echoes from a London garden fused with a computer’s ventilation noise and a broken necklace’s beads from Patrick McGinley. Here’s how it appears to these ears. “In His Home”: metallic-sounding, yet vivid drones growing menacingly, then interrupted abruptly by what sounds like looped crackles that soon merge with the “drone reprise” in dramatic fashion, the whole intense and worrying, alarming in a way. “In His Head”: obscure, windy, whooshing buzzes just spotted by typically rustling, field recording-derived fragrances. Then, static (but not too much) superimpositions of feedback-ish emissions and cyclical harmonics, more ringing, hurried steps (or are they?), piercingly magnetic frequencies. Great stuff all over.

MOLJEBKA PVLSE – Lodelvx. “Lode” is a reverberating, flanging block of trance under which we seem to perceive robotically funereal chorales from a far distance, the whole characterized by a repetitive presence of treated instruments getting progressively more visible in the foreground. Pretty psychedelic, think Cluster meets Harold Budd in full-opium effect. “Lvx” is a splendidly resonant drone - halfway through the intro of Genesis’ “I Know What I Like” and Lustmord - that after a while becomes a slow, mournful song. So mesmerizing that one could listen to it for hours. This non-critic hates the 7-inch format also for this kind of reason: this is too beautiful, and too short.

HATI – Recycled Magick Drones. Processed gong drones, whistling and rattling sounds and delayed percussion. Moderately interesting, a ritual character that’s not really annoying, despite this writer’s not excessive love for lengthy reverbs. Shades of Z’EV (of whom the Polish duo have been collaborators) never transcending into actual plagiarism. All this notwithstanding, a rather unremarkable release, which – though not disturbing and sometimes even pleasing - doesn’t add anything new to my morning.

LICHT-UNG – Kristall. Annoyances of the post-industrial kind: thunderous roaring, feedback, shifting dynamics, scraping sounds appearing every once in a while. Inhumanly inconsistent, to say the least. Neither anarchic enough for getting my interest tickled, not aesthetically pleasing. Maybe it was intended that way, but here we don’t buy this type of “art”. The irregularly modified metallic jangling of the second side is even more insubstantial. A classic direct-to-trashcan article.

NOISE DREAMS MACHINA – In / Out. From the press release: “…exploring the possibilities of homemade software with free tools for sound deconstruction and real time performance”. A rather tortuous description for quite conventional noise, some of it nicely resonating, the rest more or less useless. I don’t know how there’s still an audience for stuff that would have struggled to make sense in the late 80s already. Everything sounds a hymn for the “been there, done that” character of post-industrialism. Ineffectual, worthless dabbling along well-trodden paths. The second side is much better than the first, though, adding a welcome spacey vibe to the procedures.

SHRINE – Distorted Legends Pt.1. Hailing from Bulgaria but residing in England, Shrine are (is?) another example of production which distinctly recalls the golden era of post-industrial music. Generated by “distorted synths with odd micro-noises and effects” this stuff is not so bad, mixing crunchy distortions, washes of homesick chords and interference in a candid, yet acceptable way. Probably too light-hearted to be called noteworthy, yet gifted with traces of sincerity that makes me want to save it.

And then there’s the rest:

ANTOINE CHESSEX / ARNAUD RIVIÈRE – Chessex / Rivière. One side each, Chessex on an unrecognizably distorted saxophone, Rivière on “electrophone, etc” (sic). Short, sharp, shocking noise that I used as a soundtrack while watching two elephantine heavyweights fighting (heartlessly) for the European title. Devastation, distortion, grime, harshness, aaaarrrrggghhhhhh… Nothing new under the sun, but likeable. (Le Petit Mignon)

SKELETONS OUT / NMPERIGN – Live 1978 / Marvin. Howard Stelzer and Jay Sullivan kick ass – seriously - via an assortment of sludgy aural offenses showing disaffection and hostility in a guerilla-like fragment, while Bhob Rainey and Greg Kelley don’t delude expectancies through their hard-breathing explorations of wheezy overtones, imperturbable hisses and motley chirps. No trace of politeness whatsoever in this snappy release. (Editions Zero)

PETER WRIGHT – Magpie Attack On The Back Road To Albert Town. Begins with a classic Peter Wright lucid dream, chimes and sweetness, everybody ready to be lulled to sleep. Then you’re scorched by fiery distortion, which soon turns into majestic droning with purple intumescences. The alternate mix on side B is even better, a desirable mental fog experienced as belly-dancers and fat cats float around, the penetrating equalization adding a pseudo-transistor radio character to the impalpable auras and crunchier eruptions. The man rules. (Dirty Knobby)

RED SQUIRRELS – Acicorn Twirl. What am I to say? Songs and soundscapes that look pretty disconnected from anything else, lots of taped voices, buzzing flies, street echoes, abundant manipulation, lo-fi throughout, and there are melodies, too. As my wife is cooking and a marching band makes itself heard from the nearby town - circa 1 km from here - this can be a small part of my temporary microcosm’s noise. Taken alone, it doesn’t amount to much, but I’ve heard worse things in my life. Bizarre, yet not truly revolutionary. Forgiven for this time. (Automation)

ABIKU / KID CAMARO – Abiku / Kid Camaro. Abiku rock obliquely in “Regency”, easy melodies bathing in dissonant jangling guitar, with strangely deviating bass lines that make me appreciate their mixture of Bangles and Ramones (just a bit). They can also annoy with repetitive electronic rhythms and screaming vocals which sound like a snotty toddler deprived of a lollipop, the latter incarnation plain rubbish in strictly musical sense. Kid Camaro appears as a deranged composer of polyphonic mobile ringtones, cheap drum machines and curiously bleeping synthetic outbursts adding to the ear-pleasing weirdness. One of the most absurd releases met in a long time indeed; do this people believe I’m out of my mind? Well, they’re probably right. (Automation)

D + D – Properties / Ribbons. This comes from Bryan Day’s Public Eyesore, so we know that the quality must be there (well, most probably). Indeed the guys (Dino Felipe & Dereck Higgins) are good, the item comprising a half-played half-dismembered electroacoustic concoction, easy on the ear even in its noisiest features, literally indescribable. The second side is slightly more ethereal, honking cars utilized as harmony (wonderfully), a hint of ambient-tinged minimalist repetition scarred by blubbery creatures that speak abnormally in a completely incomprehensible jargon. In all, just over five minutes of great music that I would like to listen to again, in different formats and longer durations. Pink vinyl. (Public Eyesore)

ELEKTRONAVN / EXQUISITE RUSSIAN BRIDES – Elektronavn / Exquisite Russian Brides. Yet another split edition, and this time it’s really great, both projects coming from Denmark. Elektronavn are Mia Luna Persson and Magnus Olsen Majmon; they present superb drones, achieved through superimposed vocals (more or less altered), zurna and bansuri. No pretense or affectation, just wonderful mantras that one could listen to for days. Exquisite Russian Brides is Marc Kellaway on cello, guitar, loops, bells and xylophone, and his music is equally gorgeous, a different kind of instrumental Om - gifted with lavish resonances - which I’d play ad infinitum had this been a compact disc. And if you did release CDs, folks, don’t hesitate to send them. Possibly the best 7-inch of this article; lovers of Richard Skelton might give this a try. (BSBTA)

FEAR FALLS BURNING – Woes Of The Desolate Mourner. Your chronicler used to respect Vidna Obmana, a constant source of photocopying for many and one “new ambient nonentities”, yet hasn’t been able to approve the transition to Fear Falls Burning. To me, Dirk Serries crossed the river: from imitated to imitator. His guitar drones are not exceptional in terms of profundity, not even a good copy of the icons he tries to reproduce (in this case Robert Fripp, rather shamelessly). If I want to listen to this kind of music I play the originals, not to mention my own axe. Forgive the rudeness, but the fact that this stuff has met rather favourable responses tells a lot about the superficiality of the large part of today’s audiences. The above mentioned Fripp and Richard Pinhas might consider suing. (Tonefloat/Ikon)