Showing posts with label Seth Graham. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seth Graham. Show all posts

KYMATIC ENSEMBLE “Split Series Vol. 4” C35 (Orange Milk)


Orange Milk’s “Split Series” usually pairs two artists per tape, one on each side, giving each performer the space to crank out the weirdest, most spasmic nonsense they can and hope to god they out-nonsense the sorry sap who has to follow THAT up on the B-side. Actually, it’s not quite so battle-royale-esque as all that – it’s mostly likeminded visionaries joining forces for dual exposure, despite the fact that they’re still mostly weirdos. I mean, c’mon – you’re not listening to Orange Milk tapes because you expect some sort of convention to be followed, am I right?

“Split Series Vol. 4” is a bit different than the usual format, in that Russia’s Kymatic Ensemble does the whole thing, both sides, A and B. If you’re wondering, as you should, how the heck that counts as a split, I’m here to explain to you that they’re performing PIECES by two different artists, thereby representing two distinct personalities. Here they extend their interpretive chops across a fairly wide divide, going full schizo with pieces by Sean McCann and Orange Milk co-honcho Seth Graham. In my best infomercial voice, “The results maaaay surprise you.”

First maybe it’s illustrative to point out that the Kymatic Ensemble, an “experimental … collective of academic improvisational musicians who use Baroque, modern chamber and oriental instruments, as well as electronic-generated sounds,” has performed Terry Riley’s “A Rainbow in Curved Air,” so maybe I’ll just leave that there to wet your whistle. Let’s just say they sort of split the difference when tackling McCann and Graham. Certainly the pieces are both long in form and expressive, and they run the gamut from delicate to kinetic. But let’s keep these sides separate, OK? We’re still working with a split here.

First, McCann’s “Vilon” aches with melancholy, the strings and piano dripping with pathos as they interact with each other. By the time the piece had run its course, I felt like weeping uncontrollably was the only recourse, the only way I could get “Vilon” out of my system and function again. “Vilon” is twenty-one minutes of weaponized sadness, a heartwrenching document perfectly tailored for Kymetic’s vision and setup.

Then my favorite thing: an interpretation of electronic music by humans playing acoustic instruments. Graham’s “Gasp” is a triumph, landing in my top 10 records of 2018, and Kymetic’s arrangement of certain sections of it somehow manages to do it justice, even though the original is a scrambled-MIDI fantasia incorporating paranoia, anger, and mirth in relatively equal measure. But Kymetic was somehow able to pull it off, unlike the drummer in my college band who I kept yelling “Play like Squarepusher!” at. The level of detail they manage to replicate is nothing short of inhuman, to the point where I suggested, back when I was writing about “Gasp,” that maybe Kymetic is actually an interconnected human hard drive wired to play back things like “Gasp” and “Vilon” on command, like when we press play on whatever studio keeps them in deep freeze.

Don’t believe me how cool Kymetic is? Check out these live videos:



Now you know what I’m talking about.




--Ryan

SETH GRAHAM “Gasp” (Orange Milk / Noumenal Loom)





[A collaborative review; italics: Jacob An Kittenplan; roman: Ryan Masteller]

“My desire is for you to stop being a fuck wad.” —Seth Graham

“No, seriously, stop being such a fuck wad.” —Seth Graham

“Gasp!” —the national media

“Damn, that’s a good idea.” —Seth Graham

The anger distilled into chaos. The chaos splattered with pink slime. The slime-coated chaos sprinkled with jimmies. What melts in the minds of humans hardens into EQ spikes, like the dying final breath of a bassoon clicking with precise afterlife.

Seth Graham killed a bassoon. Let’s not lie to ourselves.

***

Master of juxtaposition, servant of none, what hath “The Cream” (or was he “The Juice”?) paired seemingly effortlessly this time around? Staccato and Legato, for sure, as percussive scattershot slices and dices through most modest swaths of reverberating, disembodied consonance. And surely acoustic classical instruments and ccllaassssiicc MIDI culture and cheese get the brain all congested and discombobulated, as does the electroacoustic phenomena wiggling all willy-nilly alongside (Inside? As Above and So Below?) the equally dished out electronically limited glitch?

***

Barfing classical music in a free-jazz whirlwind, Graham’s computer somehow makes its music with Photoshop while jolting the maestro himself with electricity, probing his mind and freezing his hands to the keyboard via 2400 watts of pure <em>juice</em>. Is the computer sentient? Is it running Orange Milk Records? We have to ask these questions, you know. These days it’s confusing to understand what is source and what is output, what is composed and what is random.

But then again, Seth might just be having a go at us.

***

How, like, seriously playful? How lethal said whimsy? How much “ITAKEITBACK” must a sonic posit make before being completely forgotten? Such are the conundrums within the wizardrous mixing of Gasp.

***

That brain of yours has got to crack right down the middle, like a boulder-battered windshield, before it can reconstitute any of this. Seth’s laptop screen is a blank spider web of blunt force trauma, the contents of its hard drive backed up to a lake where an entire orchestra wanders knee-deep in the shallows, attempting to play from memory everything Seth’s ever created.

Don’t you get it? The orchestra is the hard drive!

***

Keep in mind that under zero conditions could this album be actualized (with 80% fidelity) live.

***

And it’s soaking wet.

This is modern classical!

Brain, meet retooled functionality. Orchestra, meet your greatest performative challenge.

***

One cannot pair the jangle of pocketed pennies with fiercely pounded tympani, lest it be expertly curated.

***

When we have listened to ourselves, to our forebears and contemporaries, we can eschew obligation – along with things such as “structure” and “modern technology” – and metamorphose into that great incandescent magma-like density, hovering without gravitational limits or buoyed by heretofore unknown space-metal pinpricks. Such is the magic of the OM, that time and space are suspended to allow for these timbral and dynamic extremes to parley, interweave,  s-t-r-u-g-g-l-e, crystalyyyze and, really, like, to really get the fuck down, to get the fuck w-e-i-r-d, for the sake of psychoacoustic partying! And there stands Gasp above the pulverized remains of our former selves, heartstopping, jawbreaking joy in the face of everlasting fuck wads. What is there to understand here? Smash the bassoon! Gasp into the void!




-- Jacob An Kittenplan and Ryan Masteller


SETH GRAHAM
“No. 00 in Clean LIfe” C14
(Orange Milk Records)


 

Seth Graham is the co-founder of Orange Milk Records, so you can be confident that he knows his way around avant-garde composition. But where many in the Orange Milk stable of artists mask their pop inclinations in wild experimentalism, in the process rendering their releases way less “pop,” Graham takes a different approach, from pretty much the opposite end of that spectrum. Instead of building a foundation on funk or disco or krautrock and spiraling from there, he lays his groundwork on the solid footing of classical music to begin his experiments.

Which totally works for him, by the way, and allows me to give my brain a much-needed workout. And god knows it’s getting awfully flabby in there, as far as intellectual capacity goes. I can only hear the Jackson 5’s version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” so many times before it takes over my consciousness completely and I rupture something in its wake. (It’s Christmas radio season as I write this, if you hadn’t noticed.) Anyway, No. 00 in Clean Life is short, really short at fourteen minutes, and absolutely demands full attention. How are you going to let your mind wander over fourteen minutes anyway? There’s no excuse – you have to ask yourself really important questions, like, what’s Graham using as his instrumentation? Patches? Voice patches definitely, but we’ve got strings and woodwinds and other stuff cut the hell apart and sampled to maddening oblivion. But not maddening in a bad way – it’s the utter unpredictability of this tape that continues to compel me to hit rewind. I’ve listened to it a few times, and it still manages to surprise and excite.

“Fate in the Key of Raspberry” begins the tape with a horn blurp, then tensely ambients (a new verb!) its way through the speakers like the opening “fanfare” of Lost. Remember Lost? You all loved it, including its finale, just like me. Yeah, that show. But it’s a false beginning, as Graham destroys any preconceptions you may have had in those few seconds. I’ve found as I’ve listened that his use of silence within these pieces is nothing less than masterful, as he artfully places it within the short bursts of voice and synthesizer (and the other stuff, remember, I have no idea what he really used). The sound, moving around the corners of the silences, is accentuated, and every moment feels like a glittering arpeggio even if all you’re hearing is a brief snippet of tone. All of this lends a great sense of tension to the compositions, as if Graham has concocted a MIDI opera instead of your standard electronic EP. Nothing standard here. And if I haven’t mentioned it, and I know I haven’t because I can read what I’ve written, the editing is utterly top notch. I’m just … jaw dropped.

So, clean life, then. It’s not unusual to be inspired by music, as it can wriggle in to your conscious mind and settle in your subconscious, becoming part of your life in unexpected ways. With No. 00 in Clean Life, however, I think I’ve discovered the ground zero moment of actual personal renewal. I dare you to listen to “Touch--Dy,” all three minutes of it, and come out the other end the same person you were when you began it. It’s a holy experience (or at least a “Holy crap!” one), and one that makes perfect sense after completing it. I no longer feel like a novice, shuffling about on this planet with my hands in my pockets and a stupid grin on my face. No sir – I have a purpose now. I think Seth Graham is a secret Jedi master. (I just saw The Force Awakens, gimme a break.)




--Ryan Masteller