S Object/Folk Wisdom
Inspired by Chris Marker’s fragmentary post-apocalyptic time travel film La Jetée and purporting to involve a mysterious black box dating from the Anthropocene era, AirEffect seems at once an imaginary soundtrack and the illusory object of its own investigations.
Stanislao Lesnoj‘s haunting saxophone circles SmZ‘s shuffling drums and other percussion while Christian Fennesz‘s guitar and electronics scrape and shimmer. All the time a plethora of broken, cut and pasted voices and environmental sounds ebb and flicker across the soundscape, their processed jitters and occasionally eerie whispers creeping and crawling into the listener’s perceptions in a dreamlike nagging at the unfamiliar.
The dynamics that the trio deploy are often highly effective and immersively engaging. Like tuning into overlapped, glitching
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The opening number sounds like the closing track; it’s all about endings with Fennesz; endless endings, everything slowing down and finishing off. These are jet trails, not jets. This is the stuff that clings to rock, not rock itself.
“Static Kings” opens Bécs like it’s the last album he’s ever going to make (cf. the, in retrospect frankly fraudulent, last track on Orbital 1.0’s Blue Album, “One Perfect Sunrise”). It deals with its emotional aggregates and it soars with them; it glorifies in that sense of abstract loss that music can specialise in; the kind of thoughts that gather at the bottom of a bottle at the bottom of the world when you look up and know, beyond all doubt, that things will never
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Camber Sands, Sussex 29 November-1 December 2013
So it came, as the subtitle says, to the very end of an era for All Tomorrow’s Parties on the English coast. Returning full circle to Pontin’s at Camber Sands where it all kicked off 13 years ago (barring the festival’s origins with Belle and Sebastian‘s Bowlie Weekender a year earlier in 1999 at the same spot), ATP brought out its glad rags and old friends to take rock and roll and variations thereof on a musical jaunt to the seaside one last time.
With recent line-ups often being somewhat less enticing than the earlier events and with declining numbers apparently attending, it’s not such a surprise that the time when holding an off-season indoor festival four times a
Continue reading All Tomorrow’s Parties: End Of An Era Part 2 (live at Pontin’s) […]
Label: Mego Format: CD,LP
We in Los Angeles have to suffer through the endless re-viewing of this surf escapade. It’s expected. It’s part of Western (literally) cinema, much now like a muscle in the face that one uses but forgets exactly what its purpose is. And yet these sounds scuttle like the smallest parts of that film – ones that are never popularly noticed, even after a hundred viewings. These sounds remind a bit of watching a line of ants while sitting on the sidewalk at the Hollywood Christmas Parade. They’ve been there all along. They are spectacular in themselves.
Grains of sand push their way past the microphones and muddy up the eddies of the sounds surfing from one point of the melody to the next. It is unclear if there are extracts from the original soundtrack occuring
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Label: Synaesthesia Format: 3″ CD
A rolling quilt of crackles and scour tumbles over the sadness of things – that low series of tones which augur an undesired reflection. How many tones and clicks does it take to raise a feeling, a memory, a thing of resonance? The cover: cross on headstone with eyes, eclipsing the sun. The sounds stretch from within, like rambling daylight…
Backwards tones shoot outward, eddying in riverapid flows, fighting a current. Spiked with static, it playes against tones plucked from the garden of records; stroked like Beuys speaking to his hare. Whose are these tones? Fennesz‘? Parlane‘s? Whose are these ripples? A bit of both? Neither? Either?
Is it love?
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Label: Touch Format: CD
Clocking in at a nadge over quarter of an hour long, Live At Revolver, Melbourne makes up for its shortness with some intensity instead. The whines and drones of clickety-snickety underpinnings meet tones at fifty paces then closing to quarters more uncomfortable. These things should sometimes be kept at arms length, but bringing the sound of what resembles a wardrobe being manhandled into a coal cellar this close to the ears can be enjoyable up to a point.
That point is probably about right at the length presented here. Hypnosis is acheived, interventions made and proposed, the texture of hiss and decay propounded on the bones of rhythm and melody just about gets remembered like a distant cousin. There are guitars resident in the cloacum of rendered acoustic transformation, but they don’t stand a
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