Seven)Suns is a self-professed “avant-metal and hardcore” string quartet that approaches their material with a dense and angular intensity. Consisting of Earl Maneein and Adda Kridler on violin, Fung Chern Hwei, on viola, and Jennifer DeVore on cello, the group has worked with Imperial Triumphant (on a Trey Spruance arrangement) as well as others.
Here, they present a reinterpretation of The Dillinger Escape Plan’s album, One of Us Is the Killer (they have previously played with that group as well). And they do so in a way that avoids past attempts to “classicalify” a rock album that resulted in bland replayings of the album with classical instruments. The fact that this is an album of covers (or a cover of an album) is actually of secondary importance. The music stands alone without this context.
Case in point, there is heavy riffing and sawing of strings, overlapping themes, and plenty of nods toward classical modernists. Early Penderecki and Crumb seem to inform the music even though it is derived from a different source. And Seven)Suns never lets up. They move with haste, avoid ballads, and are thoroughly uncompromising. This version of One of Us Is the Killer is a brick to the face – for almost 40 minutes straight.
Two new recordings from southern Europe feature duets pairing the piano with another instrument often found with it in standard rhythm sections. The results on both albums are anything but standard.
As its title declares, Out from Athens was recorded in Athens, Greece, by two musicians, separated by a generation, who are natives of the city. Double bassist George Kokkinaris, the younger of the two, is currently based in Athens after having spent time pre-Covid living and playing in Berlin; pianist Pandelis Karayorgis has been part of the Boston music scene for decades, having gone there to attend the New England Conservatory in 1985. Out from Athens, which will be released later this month, is Karayorgis’ second release of piano and double bass duets in recent years; a previous one, featuring Damon Smith, came out in 2023. This album of concise piano and double bass duets follows the disc of duets Karayorgis released last year with free improvising double bassist Damon Smith. As with that earlier collaboration, the current one features a bassist who pushes the instrument into territory defined primarily by colorations of sound. On most of the tracks, Kokkinaris plays with a focus on extended technique and with frequent use of preparations. On Athene Noctua, for example, he uses the body of the bass as a percussion instrument; on Argle Bargle he draws rough-textured sounds from the prepared instrument with the bow. His solo piece I Wake to Sleep and Take My Waking Slow highlights the range of his sonic palette. In contrast to Kokkinaris’ willingness to distort pitch in order to take his instrument to timbral extremes, Karayorgis’ playing thrives on maintaining pitch relationships with the musical equivalent of precise diction. His sense of texture runs to the porous, particularly on the spare and abstract Throughgoing Line, a piece inspired by the paintings of Wassily Kandinsky. Even in the densest, most turbulent passages, such as on the high-energy Mumbling Urban Poems, Bumpy, and the title track, he retains a cooly managed and well-delineated sense of space.
On Così com’è (roughly, “that’s how it is”), the duets are for piano and percussion. Drummer Stefano Giust and pianist Giorgio Pacorig are both based in Friuli-Venezia Giulia in the northeastern edge of Italy; they’ve played together in various combinations since the early 2000s and appear with each other on several albums. Both also share a background in jazz-derived improvisation with leanings toward open form playing. Their new album features three long improvisations that undergo constant mutations of mood and dynamics. Pacorig is the more introspective player of the two, although on the second performance he plays with an outgoing, high energy; otherwise he tends to favor a discontinous line of short bursts and splashes of chords. Giust maintains a taut tension throughout, as he lays down a flexible pulse that pushes the music along with expanding and contracting tempos and dramatically varied phrasing. Giust is a master colorist, and the two sometimes become difficult to distinguish when Pacorig plays directly on the piano strings with hands and objects.
Dronny Darko (Oleg Puzan) continues a run of compelling dark ambient / electroacoustic ambient releases with Godless Lands. The album, themed around dystopian concepts, starts with a nod to classic influences like Klaus Schulze and Steve Roach through a retro synth-based ambient sound. This style is evident in several tracks, some of which even lean towards a lighter, more playful tone.
However, the album soon shifts toward darker themes. Valley of the Morbid employs soft static, mechanical vocalizations, and groaning walls in addition to a slightly bouncy synth line. The Watchful Eye progresses in an even grimmer fashion, with a windswept soundscape and an underlying combination of both martial drumming and aleatoric percussion effects. Patient 4067 ventures into post-industrial territory, characterized by repetitive machine sounds and a menacing vibe.
While these darker aspects are tempered by sequencing and brighter moments, the overall feel of Godless Lands varies between bleak and dangerously inhabited. The album is another cinematic release from an artist and a label well known for their efforts in this rough genre.
Theta is the debut album of Ratti, a Bolognese ensemble which at the time of recording consisted of Roberto DiBlasio (alto and soprano saxophones and drums), Antonio Ciaramella (guitar and electronics), and Giulio Izzo (double bass). Since Theta was recorded the three were joined by drummer Simone Vincenzini.
Theta is an interesting mixture of composed and improvised music, with the emphasis falling on the side of composition. For a trio, Ratti gets a full sound; DiBlasio, Ciaramella, and Izzo make the most of the instrumental resources at their disposal with intricate arrangements that see melodic lines and supporting roles passed seamlessly around from hand to hand. Consequently, the music is propelled as much by shifts in instrumental color as it is by melodic or harmonic progressions.
A typical track is built around a core of a handful of melodic themes arranged for all three in unison or in harmony, followed by solos over elementary structures. The music itself contains elements of jazz, classical and rock blended in a way that mostly defies generic pigeonholing. Cremisi, which finds DiBlasio on drums, is a loose-jointed rock jam; Achab is a short, through-composed piece; Memories is a contrapuntal work that incorporates a quasi-minimalist pulse; Canto notturno, the closing piece, enters into experimental electronic territory. The playing is economical but tight, with DiBlasio, Ciaramella, and Izzo working together to forge a truly collective sound.
At the heart of things, all music is inherently nominalist. Will a Western listener have a similar experience to an Eastern listener when encountering the same work? Are there universal sensations at play when people are listening to the same piece of music, even though they are hemispheres apart? Will one persons glimpse of the Elysian Plains during a favorite musical moment match another who, for all we know is having lunch in the ninth circle of hell?
This non-universalist way of looking at music plays very well within the Acousmatic/EA world. I’ll use the excellent new release by Olivia Block, The Mountains Pass as a case study. There is a significant ensemble (band) sound on a decent chunk of this album but generally speaking, it sits firmly in the electro/acoustic world like most of her back catalog.
The interested listener to The Mountains Pass is immediately thrown into an imaginal heaven. The mind screams orders, directives, exclamations! The senses are on high alert, defcon one alert.
Look here…
no, look here!
Shiny object
Body?
What’s this thing called Body?
It’s about the mind… dummy.
My singular experience with this album will be my singular experience. Yours will be your’s… they may be close but they will never be identical, of that I’m sure.
The Mountains Pass is a self generating art piece. Self generating from the listeners perspective. So let’s call it “Self” generating instead. I’ve lived with this release for about three weeks now and every encounter has not only been demonstrably (as in thoughts/images/visions I can recall long after the listening session) different but… on a personal level, being impressively affected by it with each listen. That’s what I mean by “Self” generating. Art does that to a soul, and The Mountains Pass, by bringing it into the objective space fulfills this human animal demand imposed on Art.
To be honest, I struggle with the idea of mind/body. Why can’t my subjective experience of listening to “The Hermit’s Peak”, one of the longer pieces on the album be any less real than encountering the Hermit’s Peak (if there is such a place) in our real world? Afterall, and I realize I’m engaging in word gymnastics here… but my subjective experience can be looked at something that is objectively real… to me. Is there a problem that it’s not on the same dimensional plane? Works for me! You should listen.
This brings me to thinking about musicians as magicians. Can a musician be a magician? My current understanding of a magician is someone who can, through an act of sheer will create an object or set of actions that were not previously in objective existence. The keyword here might be “objective” and, in that sense you may assume a negative answer to that question. The Mountains Pass, as sublimely evocative as it is will never manifest itself as physical things you can touch, feel, smell, embody with all your physical appendages (or will it???). But Block can, and should be viewed as a facilitator of sorts. This is true of all the past work I’ve heard from her but especially on this latest release. There are moments of poiesis within this music, and those moments come fast and furious. A storm of poiesis… yeah, that sounds about right. Enchantment is everywhere.
What those moments are, I, of course, can only speak for myself and… ironically I can rarely find adequate words to describe them. Maybe that is as it should be… but I can tell you that the magical act, ritual, invocation Block has got goin on within this recording is some high order magia. This world is not disenchanted, and Olivia Block proves it.
The Mountains Pass begins with a short electronic/vocal piece. I don’t remember hearing vocals in her music before, hearing them now for the first time was a revelation. The piece, called “Northward”, for all it’s brevity is the perfect introduction. It sets a deep ecology vibe that runs through its entirety. The abstract lyrics on this track bring to mind a world ruled by Orphic mysteries, the adoration of the divine form of Mother Nature. The vocals delivered are as whispy and spectre-like as a morning mist shrouding the landscape. “Northward”, for me creates the set (as in my own mindset) and setting for what comes after.
“The Hermit’s Peak”, at 13 minutes is… in a word, heroic!
The Tarot card of the Hermit (from one of the Marseilles decks) seems tailor made to fit this piece. Tarot cards can be looked at in myriad ways with numerous interpretations but on a surface level, the Hermit is part of the 22 major arcana that represent the spiritual journey of the soul. Many readers look at them through a Jungian lens and consider them representatives of human archetypes. Following this, they are often read in relation to each other as part of a hero’s journey, or… from Jung’s standpoint, the journey towards individuation.
The Hermit, in particular often symbolizes an adept on a highly personal spiritual quest of inner self discovery. While not quite visible on the card above, he is often depicted standing on top of a mountain range signifying the attainment of an elevated awareness.
The piece “The Hermit’s Peak” opens with a short zither-like sound that melts into a stunningly beautiful chord sequence played on an acoustic piano. Big expansive chords introduce an emotionally laden clarion call that mobilizes all seekers, everywhere. Empowerment is given… the inward push “to find” has finally arrived and it’s time for action. Jon Mueller’s swelling cymbals expand the already vast tableau in front of the pilgrim, the quest is well and truly on!
Sonic landscapes gradually morph into majesty as what was once an approach shifts into a feeling of ascent. The percussion become busier and another instrument shows itself in the form of what, a glockenspiel maybe?. A harmonium-like drone also comes forward (was it always there?) as subtle stuttering electronics dance around the upward path. Dynamics grow, intensity increases as Thomas Madeja’s trumpet enters the now teeming maelstrom of sound as the snow capped crest becomes visible above the mist and clouds.
The apex is gained, Block and ensemble dynamically fade into a oneness of a well deserved rest. This Hermit has indeed reached their peak.
“Violet-Green” follows, giving us the albums second long vocal oriented work. Subtle electronic pitches along with that zither-like presence provide a rather alien fanfare that settles into the main body of the piece. The vocals seem to be less electronically treated than “Northward” but still retain a certain something that is unknowable yet, at the same time… knowable depending on your mode of hermeneutics. For me, they inhabit a liminal space somewhere between the abstract where groupings of words are the art form in itself and a darker, more menacing, but clearer message. Either way, Death… as a harbinger or catalyst for change is the vibe that I get.
The piece takes it’s time, ambling through a sparse and foreboding wasteland of quiet acoustic piano, simmering electronics lurking underneath, sustained organ chords and Block’s languid, evocative singing.
An organ led crescendo is reached indicating that perhaps there is a hope at least, of renewal and rebirth. But the lyrics, in the form of a question and the uncertainty of resolution are firmly rooted within the melancholia. For now, only hope.
“f2754” is the most driving piece on the album but it’s nowhere near the intensity of anything you would find on Block’s previous album, Innocent Passage in the Territorial Sea. Much of that material displayed an unbridled pandemonium that is not found on the more chthonian moods on this record. But, there is a very strong sense of purpose on this piece. A forward motion of progress. A continuation and determinization of this self realizing journey.
Primarily organ led, the work propels itself along with a sort of motorik purposefulness courtesy of Jon Mueller’s steady snare work. I can’t help but being reminded of the Tarot image of the Chariot here:
Even though I would never give the often used PLAY LOUD recommendation for The Mountains Pass… on f2754 I would feel comfortable by saying to at least… turn up the volume on this one! It’s anthemic and, in a way the antithesis of “Violet-Green”… it’s very optimistic.
The album concludes with the short and atmospheric “Ungulates”. That zither thing(?) makes itself heard again, only this time sounding much more synthetic. This piece has a strong Raga-like feel that shimmers in it’s own, self-created brilliance. Underneath is a powerful organ drone that imbues a sense of sheer, pure willpower. The landscape, both sonic and imaginal is cast into a star bright white light signifying a super strong portent of change.
The album concludes with a sense that this particular Hero’s journey appears to hang frozen on a precipice. A question left unanswered. Will this transformation complete itself? The Rider-Waite tarot deck depicts the Magician, a person drawing down energy from on high and drawing up a vigor from the earthly depths.
The tools of his trade are on the table, and above his head is infinity. What happens next is up to you…
I believe that keeping the past in our hearts, especially these days is important. The past I’m referring to is not necessarily our recent historical past but something much different, something much more primordial… something in the deep past. We seem to have forgotten, in our world of the faux insta-image, our complete and utter trust in a realist view of the universe… the archetypal truthfulness of a human self.
The Mountains Pass can act like a lot of things on a lot of different levels. What I saw from it will certainly not be what you see from it. It’s these unique personal moments that act as a hallmark to great art. If these moments allow a feeling within to manifest, then the art is achieving its purpose. For me, The Mountaiuns Pass works on this transcendent level and I’m forever thankful it’s out in this world.
My revelatory experience at Big Ears 2024 was being able to see JG Thirlwell perform two times. In the first, he sang in a dark cabaret style accompanied by a chamber rock band. The second was a live electroacoustic piece with abstract visuals. Both were high points of the weekend.
Thirlwell is a musical polymath, adapting numerous genres to his own proclivities. He has recorded over 30 albums under half a dozen pseudonyms and written for the screen. Here, he is joined by the new music aficionados Mivos Quartet for a series of five pieces composed over 10 years. Yes, they are indeed string quartets, but not like any other that you’ve heard.
Thirlwell’s writing is jumpy, uptempo, and angular. Each piece moves along at a pace you would expect out of rock music, and yet rarely repeats itself for long. The structures are generally grounded in staccato sawing from one or two of the Quartet while the others play a short-lived melody or explore with extended techniques, tone, and color. In contrast, some passages employ a cinematic minimalism.
Thus, these pieces are dense, intricate, and shifting gears quickly enough that you can barely get your head around what they are doing before they move on to doing something else. The raw tension is virtually overwhelming. And the technical demands on the musicians are significant but they rise to the challenge.
Dystonia is classical music for the non-classical listener. Thirlwell’s sheer audacity shines through to make this a remarkable and highly recommended offering.
In an album that sounds very “New York”, Switzerland-based guitarist Travis Retuer literally gives us Quintet Music. He is accompanied by Mark Shim on sax, Peter Schlamb on vibes, Harish Raghavan on bass, and Tyshawn Sorey on drums.
While Reuter and Shim handle the majority of the leads (with Schlamb also taking his turns), this offering comes across as an effort to avoid falling into traditional forms. The guitar and sax bring strong melodic voices to the fore, usually one at a time but also joining in counterpoint. The short #8 D@z is a prime example of their dense sophistication. The vibes fluidly switch between melodic and harmonic roles, adding an ethereal layer to the mix. With all of this activity, the bass and drum lines could get away with being comparatively straight. But they are not, and instead shape the musical flow through convoluted tempos and dynamics.
Thus, the solos are knotty and the rhythms complex. Indeed, Raghavan and Sorey are downright scary in their ability to keep the tracks moving along even with staggered timings.
Quintet Music was released on April 19, 2024. For purposes of comparison, if you like the last decade’s worth of recordings from Steve Lehman, do not hesitate to engage with this one.
Requiem begins with an ominously lilting melodic pattern featuring at least a cello and violin. Within two minutes it builds to a mass of roiling sound as additional layers of amplified strings and effects are brought in to form walled noise. Then it fades back to just a handful of strings. This approach immediately brings to mind the threnodies of Penderecki and Crumb, but with a heavier and more modern feel.
Despite its density, The Nausea is a one-woman project of Vancouver-based performer and composer Anju Singh. She contributes violin, viola, cello, electronics, vocals, and noise. Graham Christofferson helps out on percussion and synth. Following its overwhelming opening, most of Requiem‘s length features just a handful of overdubbed strings each one working through relatively straightforward lines. But the combination and layering of these patterns makes this album singular. Indeed, the sawings, gritty extended techniques, and martial percussion employed on De Morte Transire are exquisitely unusual even when devolving into cacophony.
Thematically, Singh explores concepts around death and in particular her difficulties processing the emotions it brings forth in her and others. This is a more personal focus than those of the aforementioned classical composers, as they stretched stringed instruments to extremes for purposes of depicting the horrors of war. But before anyone concludes that Singh’s music comes from just a place of experimental classicism, her amalgam of styles also has a strong underpinning in extreme metal, noise, and electroacoustic ambient. As the liner notes proclaim, “chamber doom” may be the most appropriate label.
Requiem will be released on June 7. If any of the above sounds remotely interesting, give it a listen. Singh has a “wow” factor that shines through the veils of complex darkness on this album.
Depending upon how you look at it, the foreign language of composer James Díaz’s [speaking in a foreign language] is the language of electronics. Or it is the language of the solo acoustic violin. The album, Diaz’s first solo recording, is an electroacoustic collaboration with violinist Julia Jung Un Suh; it represents an instance of reciprocal translation in which each instrument takes on the inflections and accents of the other.
Diaz’s stated intention is to compose for “violin as electronics,” hence to make the acoustic instrument speak in a language foreign to it. But at the same time, the violin imprints itself on the electronics, making them speak in the foreign language of an acoustic string instrument – in particular, with its phrasing and its warmth of expression. The latter is a surprising quality to find in electronic music, but there it is, thanks to Jung Un Suh’s performance and Díaz’s sensitivity in choosing timbres and electronic overlays that by turns complement and enhance the violin’s unaltered sound. Díaz creates sound masses from the violin, loops it, alters its overtone profile, has it mimic a reed instrument, makes it surge and shimmer, but nevertheless its voice comes through the manipulations and distortions intact, particularly on “they became his angels” and “Noche digital,” where the instrument is allowed space to soliloquize in its native tongue. The electronics are an integral part of the hybrid voice that emerges in the album’s ten pieces, coming in as they do at two points in the compositional process: first while interacting with the violin in real time – which I suspect is a significant factor in the remarkably nimble interplay between the violin and electronics – and then afterwards in the studio, where Díaz “recomposes” – his term — the sound into its final form.
This is largely textural music, but not entirely; there is an underlying lyrical element that makes itself felt as a constant throughout all of the sonic evolutions the music undergoes.
Unus et Trinus (one and three) is an aptly titled release from collaborators Myers, Sonologyst (Raffaele Pezzella), and Bröndum. All are well-established sound artists, with Myers having a legacy of several decades. This offering features a 20-minute trio piece as well as a pair of shorter solo works from each artist.
On the trio effort, Myers, Pezzella, and Bröndum begin with a quietly lilting soundscape riddled with bells, effects, and a voiceover. Watery electronics follow with other kosmiche sounds. This evolves into grittier textures accompanied by drones and disjointed synth melodies, as well as quiet passages with haunting percussion. There is a certain spatial character to this track, as if it was the result of a walk through a shifting sonic environment.
The two Myers contributions are in the musique concrete vein, almost industrial in nature. But Myers adds a human element with his manipulations and twiddling. There is an improvisational randomness to this approach not unlike his early influence, Tod Dockstader.
As Sonologyst, Pezzella’s pieces employ oscillations, echoes, textured drones, and sculpted static. Less aleatoric than Myers, Pellezza also explores a darker space that evokes machinery following a pre-established logic that does not consider the outcome of its acts.
Bröndum’s heavy and granular drones are coarse and discordant, accompanied by subtle percussion. Other passages are comprised of a busy soup of electronics. The result is cinematic yet mildly distributing – a representation of states and events that lead one or question the veracity of their senses or underyling reality itself.
Unus et Trinus was released on February 29 by the Unexplained Sounds Group.
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