On “Remaining Sounds”, Grzegorz Bojanek toys with the idea of making music out of what music leaves behind. Starting each acoustic experiment with a single source, like the two notes being urged reluctantly from a throat of a clarient, he massages it, scrubs it with vinyl pumice, and bathes some of the results in reverb while others are left to hang dry and exposed.
The sum-total is a portfolio of complimentary colours, the common theme of combining contrasts readily apparent and easy to access, the aesthetic experience warm indeed, all cozily embedded in tape hiss off an old Sony reel-to-reel. In its best moments, a kind of pure, textural bliss is achieved. At other times, that bliss is undermined by fiddling around with small, kitchen-sink sounds in the background, or approaching the sound source too literally, as the single string plucked on “Rewind” threatens to break out into a carillon of bells, breaking the spell. The recourse to one particular sound source is just distressing, when human breath is hard to catch on the track which bears roughly that name; the addition of short-circuiting electronics only helps to make it sound more like torture than nurture.
However, a truly happy marriage of melody and phonography is achieved on “Remaining Motionless”, whose gentle guitar ruminations echo softly through a Zen garden of flagstones, crickets and rain just a few inches away, constructed, it eventually becomes apparent, out of vinyl run-on.