One
day, in the living room, we were not in our right minds, taking turns playing
ADDJ on the turntable, spacing out, making pretty messes on the backs of
abandoned record sleeves, getting slightly high on sharpie marker fumes. I’ll
blame those fumes. I’d put on White Snake’s “Here I Go Again” 12” single, but
didn’t notice that it should have been set to 45rpm. No one else did, either. The sound from the
speakers was heavy and the trebly parts were weird and jangly, but not like
something I wouldn’t have put on on purpose. Time went by. Then, out of
seemingly nowhere, the chorus kicked in… and we all felt simultaneously sheepish
for not realizing the error of my ways.
I
don’t remember anyone named James Seever in that room, but I have a feeling
he’s witnessed something similar. The only track on side A, “Canopy of Veiled
Quantum”, fills nearly 16 minutes of tape with what I’d guess a Sutekh Hexen
record would sound like if steadily dragged under the needle at 17rpm; a guitar
based drone/noise lamentation on being uncomfortably stable, heavy as
pulse-less can be. The slow dynamic builds of mid-range noise are just a few
notches short of what a general consensus on “harsh” could be agreed upon,
while washes of feedback & warped, organic field recordings fade in and
out. Just barely underneath, not quite
competing for utmost attention, are the converse tones of what just escapes being
called “soothing” drones. This multi-disciplined SF Bay Area native has
tension’s charms clearly commanded here, continuously shifting a feedback riff
either too slow or fast to be catchy enough for whistling. By the time a tone
of familiar guitar riffery sets in, an organ pipe reminds us that this James
Seever is no one trick pony, but a classical minded composer, experimenting well
with sinking his teeth into this looser, louder, boundless forum.
Side
B, “Galactic Superstructure”, also about 16 minutes, keeps the distortion and
constant permutations of guitar textures in the middle-ground; slow piping
washes of choral tones meld seemlessly with alternating synth lines. This is
nothing to operate heavy machinery to, or sit down and have a nice,
hap-hap-happy, self-check in; it’s eerily, beautiful, get-lost-edly hypnotic,
for just long enough…’til a schizophrenic run of atmospheric black metal runs
almost dark electro-ambient runs outright six-organs-of-admittance-style
acoustic meditation…and done damn well…which dumps into field recording of
underpass-ish reverb percussion, then Buddhist monk-chanting, then back, again,
to the opening vocalist (James’ wife or sister? Someone with a shared surname
is credited!) swelling, in layers, trumpeted throughout many a pedal’d effect.
A very dynamic journey, rife with subtext and potential for interpretation.
Perfect for a creative writing exercise, or forced interpretive dance party.
Farcical war-paint optional.
-
- Jacob An Kittenplan
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