Showing posts with label Anathema Archive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anathema Archive. Show all posts

TOM WHITE “Side Down” (Anathema Archive)

 

Experimentalist Tom White dons two very different sets of scientist goggles on Side Down, one for “No script on set” (side A) and another for “Behind the face of a rock, throwing stones” (side B). “No script” suggests you waltz up on stage and dive in – either you remember what you’re supposed to be doing or you wing it and see if it works. Who cares which one applies here – White’s certainly got somewhat of a plan, but I think he’s dabbling in some dense improve too. “No script” is split into three parts and was originally a piece performed live for eight channels. Here it’s considered a “re-imagining.” I’m imagining all kinds of machines and gadgets working together in concert for some kind of common goal. I don’t know what it is, but I’m mesmerized by the process!
 
“Behind the face of a rock, throwing stones” is exactly what the tape says it is – rehearsal music. Sadly, our disease-riddled world isn’t really allowing any sorts of artistic performance (except for country music concerts in Florida, Georgia, and Tennessee, probably), so we’ll just have to wait to see Surface Area, a dance company composed of “deaf and hearing artists,” do their thing to Tom White’s groove. I’m just kidding, this isn’t really a groove – it’s totally choreographed and likely not remotely what I’m picturing in my head right now. But White takes a really tactile approach here, prioritizing “noncochlear” sound for its rhythmic and vibratory properties. Truly, these are frequencies that resonate throughout the body, allowing for even the hard-of-hearing to internalize and interpret them. Maybe one day soon we’ll be able to gather with other humans and witness art in person once again, and on that day Tom White and Surface Area will finally be able to perform their work together.
 
I’ll probably just stay home though, I’ve gotten used to that.
 
https://anathemarchive.bandcamp.com/
 
--Ryan

VOSP “Pale Shelter” (Anathema Archive)


I think I’m being punk’d.

Christian Mirande writes about “active listening” when it comes to Pale Shelter, like I’m expected to screw up my consciousness and direct it right to a point where nothing recorded to this VOSP tape can even remotely get past me. Well, the joke’s on him, and VOSP, and Anathema Archive, because I don’t have to do a g-d*mn thing to “actively listen” to Pale Shelter. Pale Shelter does the work on its own, making it so I don’t have to Zen out and pretend that I’m paying attention while manipulated field recordings of insects skritch past my waking mind and directly into my subconscious. Nope – all I do is turn on this g-d*mn tape and it’s got its friggin hooks in me. Are they skritchy insect hooks? G*d, I hope not.

Maybe it was intended as a lecture. Was it intended that way? I could do without lectures. You get lectures from me, not the other way around.

VOSP, though – VOSP is an attention grabber. VOSP doesn’t skimp on the entry points, on the jaw-droppers. When you talk about “active listening,” you’re assuming a mindset, a focus necessitating prep time. Well I went in cold on Eric Grieshaber’s wild sonic fantasies, and I was ripped from my worldview and chucked through a black hole where everything was reverberating and pulsing all around me. Was I a cartoon dog on an interstellar surfboard, catching some cosmic gnar on a molecular level? You better believe it. That’s how I was able to get to the center of it all, pass through the “Colorless Dream,” and hang ten on a friggin constellation. Some of you might be thinking, “Well, isn’t that neat. I’ll get myself ready and dip my toe in the water.” That’s not going to be enough. First, Pale Shelter is going to serrate your face. Then, it will become so cold that it boils. Then, it’s all cartoon dogs and surfboards.

Life doesn’t always make sense. You can’t always gear up. Just roll with it. Lecture over.


--Ryan

HAVADINE STONE “Fever Demorian Aphasia International” (Anathema Archive)


How do you communicate without speech? That’s a great question, and one that’s fairly important at this moment in time. Actions cause movement, change, reform. Words seem to inflame, don’t they? They take on such great meaning…

Field recordings take us through activity. We can overlay those sounds on our imaginations, pretend we’re in the middle of them. Song breaks the cycle, words inserted like ghosts or memories, yet that’s all they are. Spoken passages float like breath and drift away, like ghosts or memories. All is breath, all is movement, words lose cohesion and dissipate.

Words meet action, taking on such great meaning. Words and action heal. I was so wrong about all of it!


--Ryan

CHRISTIAN MIRANDE “My Friend Went to Heaven on the Frankford El” C28 (Anathema Archive)


Oh, behold the passing from one plane to the next – the clues are there, and I am a sleuth undeterred. The first clue, an easy one: My Friend Went to Heaven on the Frankford El says it all right there in the title. The second clue, have you cracked it? “How to administer Naloxone for an opioid overdose.” Then a link. I dread the thinking of it, but might Christian Mirande have lost just such a friend in just such a way? Might this collection of avant-garde pieces be an ode to that friend?

It would not surprise me in the least. Mirande crafts field recordings into experimental compositions, the sonics (movement, static, the subconscious, voice, instrumentation) mimicking life on various levels. Is it a reminder to recognize the minutiae one comes into contact with throughout one’s day, the minutiae that one does not give thought to? Is it a reminder to be deliberate in our interactions, with the world, with others? Is it a facsimile of the devotion we give to trivial things while cracks form in the faรงades of the forgotten but important details?

The Frankford El still runs, and we slap in earbuds for our journey, and we turn inward. Mirande allows us to turn even further inward if we give this one a chance.



--Ryan

YAN JUN “Adaptor” C44 (Anathema Archive)


Adaptors. We all need them. For recording, for playback, whatever. And we all know that when you connect or disconnect an adaptor, you get that nice electric crackle or feedback as the connection momentarily becomes tenuous. Do you know anything about science? Can you explain this to me?

Regardless, the sound can be fascinating.

Yan Jun agrees with that. So fascinated was Yan Jun by the sounds of these adaptors that he crafted an entire tape around the phenomenon. Side A features “audio adaptors connecting and disconnecting without monitoring.” So you mean they’re doing it themselves? Sounds kind of spooky. Side B gets a bit more hummy, and it’s been “denoised.” But I think you’re here for the noise. How can you not be? This is “Adaptor,” for crying out loud! It’s the WHOLE REASON you’re here!

For noiseheads and current junkies.




--Ryan

CUBE “Wet Housing” (Anathema Archive)


Cube! What are you, Cube? Grisly sonic tectonics break the geometric surface, obliterate the foundation. It comes fast, it comes slow, it comes however Cube wants to do it, to destroy itself and the pedestal upon which it’s displayed. Damaging dub action meets the nocturne, eine kleine klubmusik, but where mannequins are posed motionless and the music makes them fall apart. Their limbs first, obviously, legs and arms, they fall over and come apart further, heads fall off, some split at the torso. Then the pieces rumble to life and move more than they did when they were part of a whole. This is the mystery of Cube, the mystery of Wet Housing and what it stands for in direct relation to a mass of plastic body parts, and the mystery of Anathema Archive’s involvement in all this. If we’re sure about anything, we’re sure no one’s up to any good. If we’re sure about anything, we’re sure this is in our skin and blood.

Which just so happens to be marked as “Evidence.”

¯\_(ใƒ„)_/¯




--Ryan

VID EDDA
"Geneve Me Sansi" C36
(Anathema Archive)




"Geneve Me Sansi” starts out as a sparse Musique Concrรฉte piece, but, by the beginning of side B, it has morphed into a full-blown electrical storm of glitching cycles, machine thrum, and wind-battered friction-fests. Vid Edda’s strong suit is in their drawing out all the charms of signal malfunctions and data decay/misinterpretations, and this newest release rewards the deep listener with an ouroboroan narrative of translation loss through short circuit fritzings- without a sonorous note to be heard along any horizon.


-- Jacob An Kittenplan