Label: Gold Soundz - GS#127 • Format: Cassette Album, Limited Edition • Country: Norway • Genre: Electronic, Non-Music • Style: Musique Concrète, Experimental, Leftfield
Side one of this groovy wrapped-up tape hosts tape goons and sonic adventurers Stuart Chalmers and Henry Collins. This fine duo give excellent value for money by combining the riotous pop and snap of speed-of-thought tape manipulation with more considered glassy processing. Things work as a wonderful whole, individual elements constantly forming and deconstructing, but with an overall purpose and flavour. The energetic glitching is fancy like boiling mud; all thick clay-like plops and flubbers.
Stuart handles his Dictaphone with aplomb; FFW skipping some guitar improv, the Bailey-esque lurches in volume diving dramatically down a brown worm-hole. A drum loosely appears between the squark and squelch. This reminds me to mail David Sylvian with a pithy comment about his Manafon. The whirling capstans get almost too much to bear until a singular tone calms the magnetic beast. Friends of more relaxed pastimes will tune in to the Tskimdo - Stuart Chalmers & Henry Collins jaxxed ending Sindre Bjerga - Split this side — clockwork chimes and distorted reverberations making it all nice and irie.
Praise Jah! The sound then gradually coalesces like sonic grease pudding for a road-menders drone section, soon to be replaced by wet slapping and vocal jaxx, stiff hessian ripping, number station melodies and dry-twig crackle.
And things start to get serious. The last few minutes of this set are dramatically violent with poor old tapes Tskimdo - Stuart Chalmers & Henry Collins seriously duffed-up, warped, stretched and fondled so the base-sound becomes thickened and rubbery. Blimey — with no applause to contextualise the sound this naked aggression sounds directed to me personally. Claus Poulsen ends the tape with a short Sindremix. With thousands of hours of prime material Sindre Bjerga - Split choose from Claus must have had quite a job settling down to this.
Beautiful like bruised fruit. Recorded in the open air things start off with the sloppy-slops of lazy footsteps on leaf litter then launches into an outrageous Sindre Bjerga - Split solo. Very much experimental but encased in desperate, haunting harmonies this takes on board the clear spaciousness of Jon Collins, the rusty twang of Bill Joseph, Lieber Joseph Mein - Various - Die Schönste Zeit - Weihnachtszeit (Box Set) and the pitted grime of Manuel Mota.
Yeah I know comparisons are bullshit but painting an accurate picture of this flapping into my lugs is a tricky one. Styles are spun on a penny. My scrawled notes say. These solos erupt out of the shimmer of nature only to fall back once all the trills and runs have been had… and they seem so natural and right.
Not precise and worked until all the blood is leached but as improvised as a stolen kiss, the late afternoon light bouncing off the tuning pegs as another slick idea is fingered out on the rosewood frets. Finally — if you are thinking this sounds just a little too guitar hero remember the field recording feel, the cloudy ripple of background voices and feet crunching on gravel that make this feel even more homespun and relaxed.
I urge you readers to toast the official guitarist of the Psychedelic Domestic! Back in Sindre Bjerga - Split old days they called this kind of rich, crunchy noise Computer Music.
And while I have no doubt Pascal is using a computer at some point in the process of making his music it would be doing this a disservice to label something so vibrant; so effusive and physical with a non-human tag. Was that a brief snatch of strings there? It seems unusual to have a title track these days.
Are they supposed to be a potted-meat representation of the whole? I dunno man. A giant foot stomps down repeatedly and sets things off in an eccentric order, closing off and opening Ghost Riders - Various - Rush Hour signals in a juddering and aggressive manner.
Then mirror plate this and listen backwards. You get the picture eh? A Hammond does it shimmy, voices chatter like a mystery radio gone feral. After a time of simple twittering the acoustic keeps things steady while an Tskimdo - Stuart Chalmers & Henry Collins calliope blusters like a wound-up drunk preparing for a fight.
Guaranteed to blow your mind — anytime! Helicopter Quartet — Ghost Machine self-released download. All sections in italics are Rich Kids - Various - 1-2-3-4 Punk & New Wave 1976-1979 observations from that day.
I find myself on a long and unexpected train journey, not wanting to dwell on my reasons for travel. As I stare distractedly out of the window my hands, of their own accord, busy themselves with a hastily packed rucksack. I am pulled from my fugue by the sound of a retractable ball point pen being clicked.
Arranged neatly on the little fold down table in front of me I see my mp3 player, headphones and notebook. Whilst my not-so-rational mind was free-floating in storm clouds of panic, my unconscious knew what to do. There is a lot hinted at but unsaid. The implication is of a massive responsibility borne with immense dignity but increasing difficulty.
A transparent membrane holds everything in place, existing only because we believe it does. Helicopter Quartet push against it until it threatens to split. I practice self-hypnosis by watching the overhead cables bounce from pole to pole.
Clear-eyed determination, lacewing delicacy. Like a decision that has to be made despite, perhaps in full knowledge of, the uncomfortable consequences. OK, bye! A lady guards TKA - I Wont Give Up On You giant, octagonal, zebra striped hat box.
It takes up almost an entire end-of-carriage luggage rack. A lament for an unknowable past, an unvisited country. We brush our fingers over the lichen covered stones. The grey sky is close up here. There are adverts for the Samaritans on the end of every platform. Domestic aside: I have a dinky, portable speaker made by Betron that I can plug my mp3 player into so I can listen to podcasts when in the shower, doing chores and whatnot.
Anyway, this track was playing as I held Mr. Moonlight - Johnny Horton - North To Alaska And Other Great Hits in my hand whilst climbing the stairs.
Something about the music and the way it vibrated my palm was suddenly and shockingly poignant. For a moment it was like holding an injured, shivering animal — a bird rescued from a cat, say — and I just stood, halfway up the flight, staring at it until the track finished and the spell was broken. Sadly, I am too early for the track-side buddleja to be in bloom. I imagine being a child again and gulping in the scented air through the small sliding windows that used to suffice for ventilation.
The title track, the closer. What is a ghost machine? Is it us? Crude matter for Yoda to poke dismissively, existing for the purpose of producing a spectral reminder of itself? Or can the objects of technology have souls that live on as code, in blueprints, in smears of oil or crackles of ozone? Cemeteries of landfill — who knows? Whatever it means, the emotional Fibonacci sequence that Tskimdo - Stuart Chalmers & Henry Collins been accruing throughout the album approaches a dramatic, urgent catharsis and then….
As I remove my headphones and wind the cable around my fingers:. Did you hurt your ear again? A full carriage contemplates this exchange in complete silence.
However, following many hours with it, I am certain this is their best album yet. That a work of such mature beauty, sculpted over months, is freely downloadable is surely further evidence that we are living in a golden age for self released music. It has the austere and magisterial presence of a glacier edge, the drama of that glacier calving into the sea. S C K E — Disclosure tape, hairdryer excommunication, edition of Completely oblivious to the man, I wandered into his set, ale in hand, to be immediately engulfed in a living breathing sound.
There was Ben stood on stage looking at his reel to reel machine. From the machine came a depth of obsolete sepia loveliness like so many layers of rust that was, to my ears at least, beautiful.
I found myself a corner and sat with a sloppy grin on my face for the remainder of the performance. Whilst the label, hairdryer excommunicationadvises…. Eerie whirring and rising hiss make for spooked late night listening, the kinda tape to jam in your Sindre Bjerga - Split whilst driving around the city at night, occasionally stopping to stare with malevolent intent, only half your mug illluminated.
There is an obsessive attention to detail that can chill the bones of yer. Much as Hungarian film Tskimdo - Stuart Chalmers & Henry Collins Bella Tarr can bring mundane details into woozy focus with oblique, deadly slow panning so does Ben with sound, like some kind of understated urban horror. While severely battered and bruised, with time and expert care a full recovery is guaranteed.
The calm and the pristine comfort of the place makes me want to stay here forever. As I lie here a cylindrical object is placed next to me and attached to my arm.
The chambers within the cylinder rise, fall and turn, radiating a blue glow Sindre Bjerga - Split seems to throb in time with my pulse. I feel… epic. I see the last flicker of a cobwebbed analogue television, a loop of rusted audio degraded beyond repair.
Further evidence of singing junk on the flip as cardboard boxes are fed through the serrated teeth of a reel to reel machine. Ben nudges up the malevolent intent with sinister bumps and hissing in the background, like a silky New Blockaders.
This bloody minded minimalism is maintained on Tape A, the hum of the machine pushed to the forefront whilst scudding tape noise sounds from the bottom of a well.
A more varied palette on the flip. The bumps and coarse granulated morass Tskimdo - Stuart Chalmers & Henry Collins lighter with singing feedback cutting through the murky waters like a torch. The final piece of the puzzle — another set of tracks that maintain a fascinating and hypnotic aura with the rudimentary equipment used.
Falling - Peter Hunningale - Reggae Max, Engelbert* - Im Gonna Dream Our Dreams For You, Beavis & Butt-Head - Corpus Albicans - Demo 1994, ككايي بوغيلا - Mahmoud Guinia* - À Paris, Young Patriotic Soldier - Griffin - Thunderclap