Soundholes

BBBlood - Lazar House
Sound Holes 036. Cassette
70 Copies.

Duncan Harrison - 80 Ghosts
Sound Holes 038. Cassette
58 Copies.

Tina Turner - Tidal Wave
Sound Holes 042. Cassette
57 Copies.

Roadside Picnic - Where Is The Rented Forest?
Sound Holes 046. Cassette
55 Copies.

Journey Of The Mind - Salt Rubber
Sound Holes 055. Cassette
71 Copies.

U Boat - The Snake Needs A Tatty Cage.
Sound Holes 056. Cassette
61 Copies.

Being - Hunters Fingers
Sound Holes 057. Cassette
82 Copies.

Sound Holes Sampler #1
CDR


The inability of the English to cope with the extremes of temperature is a well known one. Two days of the mercury rising is enough for most whilst two weeks of 25C+ is considered to be something of a national emergency worthy of headline news, continuous 18 point header fonts in the Daily Express and tips from the government on how to keep cool. I have to admit that while I do like to get out of bed in the morning knowing that my wardrobe for the day will consist of nothing more than a pair of shorts and short sleeve shirt I do find the heat to be somewhat draining. Thus it is was that last Friday afternoon I found myself sat in a queue of traffic with sweat rolling down my face all caused by me having to do nothing more than strenuous than breathing. Not having air conditioning and swimming pool here at Idwal Towers I find myself resorting to gin and tonics, I.P.A.’s, decent lagers and several open windows as an aid to fighting what we in England call ‘a scorcher’ and what in many countries is called ‘just another day’.

The small dark room from whence these missives emerge becomes so hot I sometimes wonder if it has a tin roof. Upon entering the room beads of sweat appear unbidden on my forehead and my clothes begin to stick to me. After two or three sweaty gasps I’ll grab whatever it is I’m after and make for the Poang and for what passes as breeze coming in through the front door. Thus armed with a pile of review material I’ll forgo the outdoor festivities that seem to consist of annoying everyone else with barbecue smoke and shit music and instead don headphones to soak up some vibes.


Seven cassettes and a CDR sampler later I emerge happier for knowing that with Soundholes we have someone who mans [womans?] an eclectic cassette label. I like Soundholes for the format and the aesthetics, for its genre scope and that it introduces new artists/bands to me.That some of them may be made up names or people going under various monikers only adds to my enjoyment and happy confusion.

As evinced by trying to Google tape loop constructivist Tina Turner whose two sides of Basinski like decay, are along with ‘Journey of the Mind’ the highlight of this particular package. Both decompositions have that wonderful languorous feel of being adrift on a mill pond, voices drifting in and out of your consciousness, chamber orchestras being deflated and sunk, things going by slowly in reverse. One side of Journey of the Mind also brings to mind Gavin Bryars soporific mid 70’s classic ‘The Sinking of the Titanic’, another colossus of decayed drone with the all too easy ability to pull you under. Perhaps the Tina Turner work is more forceful and less relaxing, a bit more urgent and star burst-y, think cycling multi-key Nitsch drones recorded on to Boots C120’s and degraded all the way down to a series of rough utterances.

More tape manipulation comes in the shape of Duncan Harrison but here the end result is harsher in parts and more chaotic overall with an array of wailing sirens, church bells, Islamic chant, reversed vocals and general tomfuckery [all ending in a TNB-ish trash noise-a-thon] being the ying to a yang that begins all spectral vocally but soon ends in a murky noise/drone. 

And there is noise too, because where there is tape there is noise. BBBlood with some steam train noise, bubbling lava subwoofer noise, cresting waves noise, each side book ended with some kind of chill out ambience. ‘Being’ is also noise, needle fluff noise, Jap noise, everything in the red noise and then you turn it over and its even more in the red noise than the other side.

Roadside Picnic have ‘out there’ keyboard dabblings and spacey synth dabs, space age Noh music, low end rumbles and giant sized Sci-Fi organs emitting monstrous farts. One of the several tracks that they’ve managed to cram on to this C46 is all but silence as recorded in the middle of a nighttime forest with distant nocturnal birds and the spatter of light rain on tent sides.

Perhaps the stand alone release here comes from U Boat with some vocal explorations aided and abetted by sparse drum rattles, small gongs and wooden blocks. Like Sunny Murray sparring with Phil Minton. The vocals are of the running out of breath variety or what the Toddmiester might call ‘gurglecore’, as if some Lithuanian witch was casting spells in a rhyming kind of hymnal way and although I was left mightily non-plussed by it all I couldn’t help but like them for what they’ve achieved. Perhaps best listened to alone, at night, in the dark, when you're in a very receptive frame of mind.

Which leaves the sampler CD. Ten tracks all segued into one 46 minute lump where you can try and spot Optrex Ten Pints Never in and amongst BBBlood, Merit, Developer, Pax Titania and KPLR amongst a few others. Noise, drone, lots of things in-between and Oneohtrix doing the analogue boogie synth bit. Not bad at all and available to stream from the Soundholes


[Yesterday there was an old woman in the pet shop. She was sat on a bag of feed worn out by the heat. A cup of refreshing hot tea to hand brought to her by the shopkeeper kept her from keeling over completely. She looked up at me and said in a weary voice ‘eeee its too ‘ot for me, I’ll be happier when it cools down a bit, I like a breeze you see’. This is probably the same woman who 16 weeks ago complained that it was too cold and that snow in March was evidence that the world had gone mad and that we were all better off when Labour were in power. And now the heatwave is no more. Thunderstorms and three inches of rain in eight hours last night. She'll be happier now.]



http://www.sndhls.com/

Smell & Quim Gullivers Manchester 13th July 2013

Smell & Quim
Barbarians
Chalaque
Septacaemic Vomit
Smut
Evil Man


Gullivers, Oldham Street, Manchester, 13 July 2013



Apparently the landlord at Gullivers is a mate of Mark E Smiths, a regular of sorts who is immune from being barred. You can see why MES likes this end of Manchester which is touted to anyone entering the city as ‘Northern Bohemian Chic’ but is in reality a sea of drunks, rotting buildings and hen parties tottering around on unfeasibly large heels.

Finding somewhere to park the limo is proving difficult due to half of Oldham Street being ablaze. Smoke drifts down the streets 9/11 style and the smell of burning wood permeates everything. Drunks stagger around holding bottles of wine and cans of beer, one of them is escorted from Gullivers in a state that appears to be one sip from total collapse. Walklett swears blind he’s seen someone talking to a lamppost, there’s feral kids chewing on burgers whilst begging for cash and around the corner William Bennett is spinning Italian disco platters. On the way over, dropping down off Saddleworth Moor, there's a coach ablaze on the hard shoulder. Flames are pouring out from underneath its back end as a group of Chinese students look on from five feet away. As we pass there are still people sat on the coach. Everything appears to be in place for a Smell & Quim gig.

Stewart Walden is talking costumes which is of course the main topic of conversation pre S&Q gig. He’s opting for boxing gloves and bananas. There’s talk of mock ups of the ‘Have You Seen Shannon Matthews’ t-shirts that appeared around the time of the little mites ‘disappearance’. Fred and Rose West, Jimmy Savile, and the little mites abductor Michael Donovan loom large.

But first to the room above Gullivers which like many rooms above a pub is a grotty as fuck but whose complaining? You can have the room for not much moolah and make as much noise as you want. There’s a bar in the corner, ledges propped up with mannequins legs and rock icon posters down one wall upon which Dr. Steg appears to be scribbling something with a pen. Dr Steg has been drafted in as a member of Smell & Quim for the evening and will spend the entire set sat two foot away from the right hand stack spray painting his stencil paintings that contain messages like ‘I’VE NEVER BEEN SEXUALLY ABUSED BY JIMMY SAVILE’ and ‘GORDON BROWN IS A CUNT’ some of which are given out to the audience during the set, some of which are to be seen adorning the back of the bar upon leaving.

But first to first act who is Mutant George and female companion who throw beer bottles into a wicker basket, scrape violins and generally make an ungodly racket. The bottles explode upon contact, bits of glass flying, there must be a contact mic in there. George pulls the wicker basket towards him and smashes everything around a bit more for good measure. I think that was Evil Man. Band names appear to have been made up for the night and I’ve not heard of any of them except The Barbarians and Smell & Quim so forgive me my lack of knowledge.
Someone plays a guitar like Gerry Garcia, lots of high end finger frotting and electric beats.  This could be Smut. The high notes are designed to reach right down into my ear channel and cause immense discomfort so I decide to get some fresh[ish] air and check out the DJ downstairs who has a huge silver chain around his neck and is spinning James Brown and Joni Mitchell tunes to a crowd of middle aged punters all downing pints of lager in a bid to keep cool during the hottest night of the year so far.

Somewhere along the line there’s a twin guitar attack who could be Smut, Evil Man or Chalaque. Not exactly Solmania but the screaming is effective in a oh-isn’t that-hurting-my-ears-kind-of-way. One stood, one crouched, one nearly deaf. 

Next up is some kind of thrown together three piece death metal band fronted by a bare chested [and footed] man who growls into his mic as guitar and drums thrape away. Obscenities are shouted at the audience which only makes them like it more. To be honest I’ve never got thrash whateveryoucallit but people are grooving to it [if that's what you do to death thrash doom metal].

The Barbarians have prayed at the Smell & Quim altar for long enough for the vibes to have seeped through outer membranes. When a 45 gallon drum is rolled into place its apparent that things will be pretty chaotic and so it proves. 45 gallon drum is hit with a piece of wood until the wood splinters, person with paper head shroud screams, person at back of stage screams, someone stage front twiddles knobs, what could be a deflated dinghy is dragged into the fray and worn by various members of band and audience. Drunk audience members join in, chucking and hitting things and falling over. The surge in noise levels is such that it has the power to make me momentarily lose my balance. My inner ear is once again being attacked.

And whilst everybody is outside having a fag and watching the drunks roll up and down Oldham Street Smell & Quim start their set with a good old religious tune. As played from a 60 year old gramophone deck that looks extremely vulnerable in this enclosed space. Someone [Nigel Joseph?] is dressed in an inflatable clown get up and is playing a babies head. Morris is stripped down to underwear and is wearing a Jimmy Savile mask and wandering between audience members. Kate Fear is wearing a Rosemary West mask as cod piece. Stewart Walden is waving his banana-boxing glove combo about. Walklett is bending over to reveal no undergarments whilst wearing a Fred West mask and black curly hair wig. He picks up an angle grinder and takes on a metal disc at stage edge whose sparks cause several audience members sat too near stage front to leap put of the way. Morris collides with them and knocks them over. Drinks are spilt. Dr. Steg sits stage right and spray paints his pictures. I collar him at the end of the night to ask him if he enjoyed his stint as S&Q member and he cant hear me. ‘Can’t hear a fucking thing’ he shouts even though its now quiet. I notice that Gullivers bouncer has appeared and is looking anxiously over peoples shoulders trying to see what all the fuss is, this just seconds after the angle grinder has been dropped in favour of a baseball bat and the demise of a microwave oven. He leaves suitably satisfied that nobody is getting murdered. It is of course a horrible noise and at around the fifteen minute mark perfectly judged. At its end the hymns appear once again and there’s a swaying joining in from Walden and Morris and of course more warm and appreciative applause.

Gullivers is a great room above a pub venue. The PA is spot on, the back drop of Public Information Films [one showing Jimmy Savile and another Rolf Harris] triggered lots of childhood memories for me, the music they play in-between acts [Faust, Happy Flowers, The Fall, Lightning Bolt] lifts the spirits as does the music played downstairs early doors [Manc based Indie]. Thanks to all involved for a memorable evening and for cleaning all that shit up afterwards.

As we make for the limo the smoke is still swirling around Oldham Street, the beggars are still trying their luck and Dr Steg is adding to the litter by chucking his artwork to the floor. A drunk staggers out of Gullivers and life goes on. The car is still there and the hills are calling.

Lasse-Marc Riek / Daniel Blinkhorn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lasse-Marc Riek - Helgoland
Gruenrekorder CD. Gruen 109
[Field Recording Series]

Daniel Blinkhorn - Terra Subfónica
Gruenrekorder CD. Gruen 117
[Soundscape Series]


Gruenrekorder releases have the uncanny knack of sending me deep into the arms of Morpheus like no other label I know. Its happened before, sometimes on a Greek island, usually at home, feet up, headphones on, a small glass of something alcoholic to hand, the review playlist whirring away only for each track and album to morph into one big blob of half remembered sounds and tracks that are finally recalled when played back compos mentis.

Lasse-Marc Riek’s homage to Helgoland [thats the Germans spelling, everybody else, including us, the Brits, who used to rule the island until we gave it back to the Germans after the second world war, but not before blowing it to smithereens, call it Heligoland]. A small island off the German coast thats home to about a thousand people and well over three hundred species of sea bird. Over the course of three years and many trips to Helgoland Riek gathered over thirty hours of field recordings the edited results of which we have here.

Riek bookend his release with what you get when arriving on Helgoland and what you get when leaving. So its the wind blowing across the sand, the surf and then at the end of your visit a light aircraft warming up its prop before take off leaving behind the lonesome moan of a grey seal. In-between we have the raucous sound of hundreds [more like thousands] of Guillemots, Gannett’s, Black Legged Kittiwakes, Arctic Turns and Black Headed Gulls all doing what sea birds do best, which is of course make one almighty racket. Their is some light relief in the shape of young Guillemot chicks fledging, their parents calling to them from the sea as the chicks pluck up courage to leave their cliff-face nest and there you can hear the splash and the no doubt contented squawk of a parent.

All this bird clatter can become quite dizzying and I guess that is the intended effect. Far more disturbing is the cry of a grey seal, a truly unsettling sound that’s like that of a child in distress. So with the wind and the birds and the crashing waves and the seals we have a labour of love here from Mr. Riek [who I think used to go to Helgoland for family holidays]. Strange place though, no cars or bikes are allowed, no pollen either so a great place for hay fever sufferers. In 1947 the Royal Navy detonated 6,700 tonnes of explosive on it in a bid to obliterate it from the map and failing spectacularly. As a stand alone sound I feel it would have made for a rather interesting Gruenrekorder release.

You’ll find Daniel Blinkhorn in Gruenrekorder’s ‘Soundscape’ department. On Terra Subfónica he’s created 19 short-ish compositions each one dealing with the way in which we, as creatures of hearing, go about our daily routines without taking in the really interesting sounds that are going on all around us. Take for instance the way in which you may be able to hear your neighbours children playing through your incredibly thin poorly built walls. Blinkhorn recreates the event by recording his children at play, playing the results back through some speakers and recording the whole thing from a different room through a drinking glass with a contact mic attached to its base. There are 19 such examples of what Blinkhorn calls ‘sub sound’ each one a startling revelation, each one carrying with it extensive explanations of its purpose and genesis within the accompanying booklet.

There’s a sea scape tryptich the second installment of which records the sounds of a colony of hermit crabs underwater, the insides of a desktop PC where Blinkhorn takes the casing off his computer and records whats going on in there with several [no doubt highly sensitive microphones], ‘Tape Junk’  composed from the outtakes of jazz guitar recordings [big reveal - it sounds nothing like outtakes from jazz guitar recordings], ‘Sub Chron II’ a work made with clocks, ‘Voix Sous’ from whispers. And on it goes.

The results are a stunning. An embarrassment of riches. Blinkhorn not only finds delight in ‘sub sounds’, he knows how to develop them into greater things, make them even more of a delight for the listener. Dip in anywhere on this release, turn up the volume and prepare to be entranced. You might be listening to crabs scramble over each other in their underwater habitat but what you’re hearing is the gentle clack of exoskeleton, like gentle rain hitting a thin sheet of tin. The sounds culled from inside Blinkhorn’s PC become digital micro chatter, overloaded information highways. In ‘[Sub]Urban Mantra’ we find the hum of the city playing host to a powerful throb, voices come and go, distant traffic can be heard and then birds. And on it goes.

Terra Subfónica is one of the most impressive environmental sound/electroacousitc works yet to come this way. The last track is probably the best [I’m saving the best for last] ‘Place/Space Threnody’ finds Blinkhorn playing an array of instruments including the piano which are then processed, clipped edited, reworked, whatever it is he does with these sounds, until we arrive at something that sounds like a cross between Arvo Pärt, David Sylvian’s more esoteric moments and Austrian laptop/guitar dabbler Christian Fennesz. A sublime piece of work.

Blinkhorn’s CV runs to soundtrack work, installations, orchestral work, chamber orchestra, symphonies, radiophonic pieces, he’s been lauded with international prizes and his works are performed worldwide. Its a pleasure to have been introduced to him.


Helgoland comes in a printed cardboard fold out job, both releases contain excellent booklets. Quality abounds.



Contact:

Blinkhorn

Lasse-Marc Riek

Gruenrekorder

SPON29&30 - Hiroshima Yeah! 100 - Fördämning 2

 

SPON #29
Fold out A5 zine and ephemera

SPON #30
Zip lock bag filled with rubbish

Hiroshima Yeah!  #100
8 page A4 zine + CDR

Fördämning #2
A5 zine. 32 pages. 250 copies. English language.





Trash as art - we’ve been here before of course. Famously with Metzger’s Tate Britain bag of rubbish that was accidentally thrown away by a cleaner who mistook it for a bag of rubbish and then theres everything that Tracey Emin creates. SPON 30 is another bag of rubbish, a little smaller than Metzger’s but still, its rubbish. Maybe I should just chuck it straight in the bin? But what if Dr. Steg becomes mega famous and his little bags of rubbish become high art sought after by the wealthy I hear you cry? Like when Olsen began sending Underwood his early American Tapes releases and Underwood chucked all the excess handmade packaging in the bin because he had no room for it and now they’re collectors items with Japanese American Tape fans paying hundreds of dollars for them. Well, thats just a chance I’ll have to take because I can’t bear the thought that I’m giving house space to a ziplock bag that contains an empty plastic bottle, a junior hacksaw [no blade], a split and bald tennis ball, food packaging, beads and various other bits of debris and to top it all the bags just burst on my keyboard showering it with the dirt. Great. SPON 30 also comes with an old cassette that has Alternative TV on one side and Chris and Cosey on the other. Both are taped from LP. The C&C side is so badly scratched that whoever it was that recorded it had to keep moving the needle along by hand [don’t forget folks, home taping is killing music]. All this after receiving a small plastic storage box filled with various useless items that was SPON 27. Oh and a SPON button badge. I now have enough button badges to turn myself into a West Yorkshire Pearly King. Or twat.

SPON 29 is nearer conventional in that you can read it. The words being a straight lift from a book or article documenting the last years of the English comedian Peter Cook’s life. And very good it is too. Sort of makes you want to dig out Ad Nauseum again. The whole thing comes wrapped  in a poster of sorts that has one of Gysin’s prints on the reverse. Accompanying detritus includes a book mark made by the residents of Pennystone Court, a flyer for the Satan Operator website, a Freepost reply card from Alzheimer’s Research UK in which all three boxes are ticked in regards of the sender wanting to know more information on dementia, an A Band CDR that is ‘Agdam’ that came out on the Blackpool label Must Die Records [no it wasn’t me who sent you it Dr. Steg], a postcard showing Bruce Forsyth and Barbara Windsor in which Steg has added his own comments and a letter from Steg written on the bottom of a piece of A4 headed ‘SIMPLE COMMON- SENSE [SIC] STRATERGIES [SIC] FOR TRANSFORMING MENTAL AND PHYSICAL TENSION INTO ENERGY’ a list of tips, the second being ‘Simplify your life! Start by eliminating the trivia’.

Meanwhile at Hiroshima Yeah! HQ Mark Ritchie has slid into three figures and for the first time included a CD where we get exclusive tracks from the likes of Midwich and the Ceramic Hobs. There lots of other stuff too including PE form Bagman and a superb opener from Derelict Mosquito Squad where the the words ‘Hiroshima Yeah’ are chopped and edited and looped into a gibberish that sounds like a Nurse With Wound experiment gone wrong. Theres quite an expanse of musical styles on offer which pretty much represents what HY Covers, including Mr. Ritchie’s own Shy Rights Movement singer songwriter outing [which is pretty damned good it has to be said]. The winner of the jangly pop song award though goes to Paul Doucét with an impressive Birds like outing on a song called ‘Red Headed Girl’. Experimental outing award goes to Minimal Frank with a swirly thing called ‘UTC-5’, a track that has spoken French language and shamanic ritual alongside some swirly electronics. Noisy award goes to Staline Plays Theremin and the best band name award goes to Cold Boiled Dog whose 23 seconds of singing sounds as if it was recorded down the phone [maybe this was Gary Simmons contribution?].

Talking of which there’s the continuing saga of Gary Simmons 1½ years behind bars. A monthly sermon on the iniquities of the penal system and what its doing to his head [answer:- nothing thats any good for him]. Simmons style might not suit everybody, CAPS are thrown in with gay abandon as are Whitehouse lyrics and references to GG Allin but whatever your point of view you cant deny that the brutal honesty of his writing makes for compulsive reading. Hopefully he’ll be out by September.

Ritchie’s own writing is equally open and honest with gig reviews often beginning when he wakes up and ending when he goes to bed. His poetry, which always fills the front page isn’t too bad either. A proper cut and past zine, the likes of which are all too scarce these days. Available for stamps trades or a kind email/letter I should imagine.


Fördämning [or should that be Fördämning] arrives from Sweden and is notable for one of the few interviews I’ve ever read with Harbinger Sound supremo Steve Underwood. Read about Steve’s contempt for Discog completists and his time as a stuntman for a TV production company. And despite coming across as a grumpy old man he assures us that he’s far from it. Theres also interviews with the Idea Fire Company [plus a guide to their best work] and Swedish industrial/noise artist Händer Som Vårdar who after watching one Youtube clip appears to be suitable Scandinavian-ly austere. LA cello scrape drone noise duo Pedestrian Deposit also get a look in. The editor even interviews himself and has the sense to admit that had Fördämning been printed in Swedish its print run would have been about seven. Plus the usual swathe of noise reviews. Enthusiastic and very readable. What more could you ask for?

Contact:

SPON

HY!

Fördäming 

Slavek Kwi/Artificial Memory Trace

Artificial Memory Trace - Yellow Varvara & 3 Chants of Constructivism
Tentacles of Perception Recordings
3” CDR

Simon Whetham & Slavek Kwi - Exchanges Across A Dinner Table.
Tentacles of Perception Recordings. 2X3”CDR.
2X3” CDR

Linda O’Keefe & Slavek Kwi - Collaboration 2009-2012
Tentacles of Perception Recordings
3” CDR. 100 Copies.





The last time we crossed paths with Slavek Kwi was with the mighty ‘Ultrealith’ release. Here the sounds of insects, birds and John Cage talking [amongst lots of other elements too] were mixed and composed to produce what Kwi likes to call ‘electroacoustic sound paintings’. Kwi’s gift lies in the way he brings these field recordings together with electroacoustic sounds producing some genuinely ear-popping creations along the way - think gentle drips speeding up and resonating into the distance as the jungle canopy chirrups and tweets in the  the background. Its a love of sound and ‘sounds’, the ‘phenomena of perception as the fundamental determinant of relations with reality’ that drives Kwi endlessly forward.

Kwi was born in former Czechoslovakia and now finds himself living and working in Ireland. His work includes installations, film, radio and the helping of autistic children and children with learning disabilities via the medium of experimental sound. His collaboration with Eric La Casa won a major French prize in 2002.

‘Ultrealith’ appeared under Kwi’s Artificial Memory Trace moniker, its one that has shared releases with the artists as diverse as Brume and M.S.B.R. and is responsible for over 40+ albums. After 27 years of recording and releasing material there’s a lot to catch up on.

But first these lovely little three inch CDR’s that come on vividly printed postcard sized prints via Kwi’s own Tentacles of Perception Recordings.
 
The collaborations with Linda O’Keefe and Simon Whetham are long gestation affairs with each artist swapping work with Kwi numerous times over a three and five year period. With O’Keefe this began with each artist creating a 30 second piece that was then given to the other artist which was then extended to 10 minutes. This 10 minutes found its way into a 30 minute piece which then found itself transformed into the two tracks we have on ‘Collaborations 2009-12’ with each artists ‘finalzing’ their own pieces. O’Keefe’s finished composition contains baby gurgles, the strum of a stringed instrument, sci-fi elevators disappearing into a star lit sky, bicycle bells, slowed down and speeded up chatter played over each other with a reversed vocal layered over the top of that [or something like that anyway], glass tubes played underwater [sub aqueous recordings being much favoured by Kwi] and the soft pulse and throb of eddying electronic tides. Kwi’s take is much more playful with the crack of a jack socket ripping from nowhere acting as a defibrillator through to a babies ‘oh’ at the sound of a box of table tennis balls hitting a wooden floor. There’s also distant shotgun blasts, party whistles, owls and the chatter of a social gathering as background murmur. There are corresponding references of course, each piece is a wonderfully laid back immersive experience but the delight to be had here is in hearing how each artist has transformed a thirty second piece into something much fuller and of their own.

The collaboration with Whethem took even longer. For five years they swapped files until we arrive at ‘Simslao’ and ‘Slaosim’. With ‘Simslao’ the sounds are more heavily disguised, a more brooding atmosphere of metal detector sweeps, rubbed fabric rhythms, bees and flies before heading off into ambient territories where surfaces are scratched and rain falls into a galvanized bucket. ‘Slaosim’ develops into a deep glitch-a-thon fest where whats going on [whatever it is] appears to be have been given the skipping CD treatment to the point that all's that left are the bare bones of a track, a series of stuttering glitches. Whether this is by design or fault I know not but around the halfway mark the thing began to loop in my CD player, a sound that for according to the CD player clock was looping but actually sounded like it was developing. Weird.

Things are certainly calmer when we return to Kwi’s own AMT outings. ‘Yellow Varvava’ began life in Russia and pays homage to Russian Constructivism with three tracks; Faktura, Tektonika and Chronosion. Once again its a pleasure to don the headphones and immerse myself in Kwi’s work. The mixing of both the natural world and the man-made one gives rise to shuddering bass rumbles, taxi radios blaring local pop music, bird song, PA announcements, subway cars entering a station and throughout it all the bright song of his friends canary.

Its these mixing of the two worlds that makes me want to hear more of this kind of material. Its a world where you need time to contemplate and appreciate it all. A world away from the busy streets and roads and lives that a lot of us career through everyday. Taking time to listen to what these people are doing results in an all round better frame of mind. It does for me anyway. These releases should be made available on prescription for the health of us all. 


Contact: www.artificialmemorytrace.com

Thuoom - Resonant

Thuoom˄Resonant
Textural Healing. THCD01
CDR-EP
50 copies.




Having hastily ripped some of the most recent review material to the iPod for perusal during Greek week, I found myself in such a relaxed state of mind that the likes of Lasse-Marc Riek, Daniel Blinkhorn, Jase Williams, Yol, some nutters from the North East going by the name of Lobster Priest and Thuoom all sort of melded into one great big post prandial blob of unidentified sounds. Little did I know, but during my slumbers Thuoom was turning into one of the most serendipitous moments of the year.

Somewhere during one of those long hot afternoons the three tracks that make up Resonant must have passed through the back of my slightly sweated brow. Three short tracks, for this is a CD-EP take note, that would have passed through the grey matter leaving but a smattering of trace. A signal of some kind perhaps, a marker for the future brought to life when I heard Thruoom once more. Those 15 minutes of music must have passed through my shell likes leaving no more trace than that of a whiff of three star Metaxa coming in from off the balcony.

It is only now, whilst safely ensconced within 17’s towers that I realise what a treat I missed. Having just witnessed one of the best gigs of my life at the Wharf Chambers I now find myself listening to an act that could have quite easily sat in amongst the delights as offered by Sheepscar Light Industrial.

Thuoom is a Finn going by the name of Tuomo who after a short dalliance with ‘metal/alternative rock’ realised that his destiny laid within the more esoteric plains of experimental electroacoustic music land. Tuomo regards his music as ‘cut up poetry made of sounds … post psychedelic electronica’, ‘forestelektro’ he calls it. Having soaked up lots of Matmos he [he?] creates [mainly] short tracks with musical and non musical instruments. These are then processed, sometimes to the point of non recognition.

The three tracks on Resonant were created using an alarm clock, a bird cage and wine glasses. If ‘Yarn’ was the one recorded with an alarm clock I’m impressed, especially as its four minutes resemble a more spaced out mid 70’s Kraut noodler nodder. Think grooved out Tangerine Dream, Michael Bundt or a trippy Popol Vuh. ‘Caged’ is seven minutes fifty of brooding glacial blasts, presumably made from the bird cage, over which a glitchy rhythm comes and goes before turning into something almost quite gamelan in construct. ‘Glasses’ as you may imagine was made with the wine glasses. But not as with These Feathers Have Plumes rubbed and looped but gently struck in a manner that I know is called tintinnabulation, i/e the sound that a bell makes after it has been struck. The results are quite stunning. Using numerous glasses filled to various levels [I’m guessing] Tuomo manages to compose a multi ringing piece of music that has within its heart a dynamic shift that not only lifts this from the cute and touristy [think cheesy busker type crud] but to the levels as enjoyed by … well Matmos. I’m guessing [again] that the struck wine glasses are further processed and layered until you have a multitudinous ringing within which small beats and bleeps escape until the whole thing returns to its ringing beginning.

And this is only the beginning. Resonant is the first Thuoom release to be found in a tangible format. The Textural Healing website has links to Thuoom’s other twelve albums all of which are freely available for download. Yes, twelve. There are another twelve albums already available, all of them recorded within the last five years.

So I listen to  ‘Aava’ [which is credited to ‘Thuuoom’ and ‘[Cycles of Sleep]’ which begins with a musical box having its whimsical tune processed into something that Morricone never imagined. Here we find a 4-string acoustic guitar, algorithms, balalaika, bottles, human voice, midi, music box, recorder, whistle. On ‘Aava’ ...  algorithms, copper paper, electric guitar, Excel, human voice, midi, music box. Right now I’m listening to the track ’43cave’ and it sounds like a fluttering Penguin Cafe Orchestra uke strum over which Thuoom hums a guttural throat warmed moan into the mic.

I’m looking forward to the vocal only album, the one he did with a digital camera, the gig and the one where he processed some tracks from his previous incarnations metal band into some noise/drone muck.

I feel as if I’ve discovered a rich seam, a mother-lode perhaps and I may be here some time.

 [Comes in a minimalist hand made folded card sleeve which only adds to the aesthetic]

Contact:

http://texturalhealing.blogspot.co.uk/

www.soundcloud.com/thuoom

An evening of Sheepscar Light Industrial-ness

The Compass Points North

Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 22nd June 2013

Petals
Aqua Dentata
Midwich
These Feathers Have Plumes
Hagman [sort of]
BBBlood



With old age comes many things; fading memory, creaking joints, wheezing lungs, diminishing eyesight, varicose veins, deafness and the inability to consume huge amounts of alcohol without incurring a hangover that last two days. Outside of the physical there’s the realisation that you don’t need to know whats in the charts anymore, or the fact that you don’t need half the shit that's cluttering up your house, the importance of relationships becomes more acute as do thoughts of going to the grave with good memories rather than a series of missed opportunities.

Of all the above it was the memory that failed me two days before my 50th birthday. We were in The Duncan having abandoned the Friends of Ham due to becoming shuffling obstacles with drinks in our hands. The Duncan was its usual Bacchanalian self: behind the bar an A4 poster reminding regulars that the prize for winning the quiz would be a ‘gallon of beer [8 pints]’, then there was the seven CCTV cameras, the drunken regulars who all look like they came from casting central, the bickering bar-staff ‘she’s pissed off cos she cant go to her 98th birthday party’, the quality and very reasonably priced Sam Smiths, the aging tattooed Teddy Boy [who kindly vacated his seat so that we could all sit together]. It was here that I got introduced to a couple of people one of whom was called Sophie and the other a chap called something with a ‘k’ in it. You see I have this way of remembering peoples names in drunken situations that revolves around allocating them a single letter. So Sophie got an ‘S’ because thats easy but the chap who was with her got a ‘K’ and when I met him about six hours later, in the gents of the WC, having consumed way too much Sam Smiths Organic Cherry Ale, the name that popped into my head was ‘Keiron’, or was it ‘Kevin?’, ‘Frank?’, ‘Kenny?’ I went with Keiron only to be told that the name I was looking for was ‘Jake’. I think it was Jake. Its not a perfect system by any means and its not one I’d recommend.

I took Big Joe with me and he immediately warmed to the WC’s charms. After the hustle and bustle of the Friends of Ham, the drunken revelry of The Duncan and the bare boards of the Duck and Drake the WC opened it arms and gave us a big hug before shoving two bottles of Sam Smiths into our eager hands. The atmosphere lends itself to the communal appreciation of whats on offer [beer, music, literature, food], a relaxed, candle lit, open and friendly place where you can mingle with the many and good.

One of whom is Daniel Thomas whose night of Sheepscar Light Industrial-ism I hijacked as part of my 50th birthday celebrations. Of course I’d had far too much beer to recollect much of it in any detail but Daniel is such a professional and eager label cheese that by noon the following day he’d uploaded mp3’s of each performance for my hungover perusal.

So I spend the last day I’ll be 49 in a happy fug of recollection and warm memories of the night previous; the sight of Rob Hayler in contemplative nod mood during Petals moody drone set, the shout out and the dedication to me at the start of his own Midwich set [and the point at which I nearly threw myself prostate before him in mock supplication shouting ‘I AM NOT WORTHY’ into the WC’s floor tiles], Paul Watson’s BBBlood energetic party noise that ended the night on a high, the singing, droning, looping, oversized rubbed wine glasses of These Feathers Have Plumes, Aqua Dentata’s exquisitely delicate drones, Dan who had to go it alone when the other half of Hagman couldn’t make it, Campbell’s enthusiastic chatter, Eddie Nutall’s dapper appearance. All a delight.

Going in to detail right now would be a test of my stamina and besides my 49 years are almost up.

http://sheepscar.blogspot.co.uk/