Liminal Minimals - November 2012

Liminal Minimals – November 2012

0 Comments 30 November 2012

Reviews by Rich Hughes (RH), Matt Poacher (MP) and Christopher Olson (CO).

Taylor Deupree – Faint (12K)

Deupree’s latest release on his own 12K label is about as far removed from his original music as it’s possible to be. This could loosely be described as “ambient” music, with minimal, if any, BPM. There’s a strong organic feel to the tracks that could actually see it as a companion piece to one of the label’s other releases this year, Simon Scott’s Below Sea Level. The gentle waves of sound lap at your ears like waves on an endless beach. The sounds undulate, slowly unfurling and revealing their majesty over extended time. Treated guitars twirl and pirouette, dancing lightly over everything else. It’s an immersive experience, ideal to listen to on headphones either very late at night or very early in the morning, when the light is haunting, and it makes even the most routine and mundane of views seem beautiful and special. ‘Thaw’ is the centrepiece of the album, and it perfectly reflects the slow process after which it’s named. The music changes shape constantly but in a ponderous and drawn out manner, yet remains bright and shimmering in its sound. Faint is a beautiful album that rewards the listener on different levels – the more you engage with it, the more it gives up, and yet if you just want to lose yourself in it then it then it won’t disappoint – it’s rare for an album to work so well like this, and it’s a testimony to how skilled a composer Deupree is. (RH)

Lindstrøm – Smalhans (Smalltown Supersound)

Following Six Cups of Rebel, Lindstrøm’s most recent full-length release in January this year, Smalhans sounds more like he’s getting something out of his system. It feels more like an EP, with six tracks all burbling around the six minute mark. The tracks aren’t quite as fleshed-out or as dense as Six Cups, and here we find the Swedish producer displaying some deft footwork and exercising some light flourishes, bringing to mind some of the sounds and ideas used on Real Life is No Cool. It comes as no surprise, then, to learn that this was a self-confessed attempt to return to his dance-floor roots. That’s not to say this lacks depth, but this release is aimed squarely at the feet rather than the head. The likes of ‘Eggedosis’ with its tight beat, top-hat sweeps and euphoric synth breaks get you pining for the club, whilst ‘Lammelaar’ takes a slower route to the same outcome, albeit with a slightly more sparse arrangement. Maybe not one of his more essential releases, then, but as a way of clearing the decks and providing some light relief, it’s a welcome change of tempo. (RH)

Oneida – A List of the Burning Mountains (Secretly Canadian)

After the trio of records that formed a long and sprawling arc of focused energy, the Oneida crew have completely changed direction on this release. Two sides of music, almost twenty minutes apiece, of improvised goodness. The release is an ode to the DIY and art scene of their native Brooklyn, and it sounds like Oneida have approached the album in the same way as a painting. A List… is a giant, sprawling canvas on which they’ve picked a simple palette to begin with, but which has ultimately been stretched and contorted beyond its purist and simple beginnings. The band have a history of harnessing the creative freedom of improvisation, I was lucky enough to witness parts of their 12 hour live set at festival a couple of years ago, and this record is a more accurate representation of them as a live entity. Out of the confines of their previously structured narrative, they’ve been able to defocus their energy and just play live, recording whatever comes out. Whilst this could’ve ended up being a bit of a mess and something of a vanity project, it actually makes an exhilarating and immersive listen. The crackling of guitar, rippling drones and fizzing drums all combine for the forty minutes, sometimes gently alternating, other times catastrophically erupting, but always moving forwards. This is a record to wake you from the depths of slumber and a rousing chorus to the joys of losing control. (RH)

Ore – Granolithic (Self-released)

Ore are Sam Underwood and Stuart Estell. They are based in Birmingham. They make intricately composed and cavernously deep doom music. With tubas (a York front-action EEb and a Besson BE983 front-action compensating EEb tuba, respectively). Granolthic is their debut album and it’s quite a thing. The title is pretty instructive in that the accumulated effect of the sounds they produce is crushing and granitic – like being slowly compressed by a throbbing slab of warm stone. And that warmth is key here, because for all of the sheer density and low-end weight of their sound, it always remains human and absorbing – not least because of the presence of so much breath, both implied and actual. This is especially apparent on the opening track ‘Sospan Ddu’ (seemingly named after a Dutch dredger) on which the sharp intakes of breath act like a doubling mechanism of the slow percussive moment of the military drums. ‘Ustvolskaya’ (named for the elusive Russian composer?) is nominally the ‘brightest’ thing here, with both tuba players using higher registers. That said, the track still feels very like an elegy. Closing epic ‘St Michael’ – the longest track at 17mins 22 – is gruelling in its way, and close in places to the doom ethic of Sunn O))). The track suddenly mutates into a harsh bellow around the 14 minute mark, sounding for all the world like someone playing an enraged bull. Which is meant as a total compliment and absolutely left me wanting more. Where the duo goes with this sound is anyone’s guess, but on this evidence it’ll be worth keeping up with. (MP)

Gabriel Saloman – Adhere (Miasmah)

One half of now-defunct West Coast racketeers Yellow Swans dials it down and darkens it up, just in time for the Winter gloom! Formerly based in Portland, now in my old stomping grounds of Vancouver, BC, Mr. Saloman is completing his MFA at architectural gem and historical hot-spot of Canadian sound art, Simon Fraser University. Looking at his CV, I realized that we ran in the same artsy circles back in Vancouver and that “six degrees of seperation” feeling roots this album to place, imagining Adhere to be an interpretation of coastal malaise, or at least influenced by a place where the rain seems to never let up and you can go six weeks-plus without seeing the sun. This album demands a full listen: it’s a dense, tense, even dramatic journey, with no single downloadable buzz track, made thoroughly enjoyable due to Salomon’s sense of timing and structure. The instrumentation and shifts in mood during Adhere’s seven movements aren’t necessarily predictable, but rather the elements seem to know exactly when to hover ominously, when to pounce, when to back off. With a feel for pacing that places every drum roll or piano plink just so, or lets a low-string drone build up to drop out at exactly the right moment, it’s all very deliberate, engineered to roll like a haunted house ride or the score to an movie involving swinging light bulbs and underground tunnels – you know, with the drippy pipes that arbitrarily vent steam. Mixing equal parts Constellation Records and Bobby Beausoleil, it’s uneasy listening, mood music. And that’s the album’s only potential fault: it makes for good eyelid cinema, but at points it treads into the darkness for it’s own sake. Perhaps Saloman recognizes this, and refuses to lean on the sinister to the point of being too hammy or creepy in that air-quote creepy kind of way. That said, enjoy it on the most miserable of evenings, when it’s raining sideways. (CO)

Mike Shiflet – The Choir, The Army (Under The Spire)

Shiflet has been a busy man of late and it’s become increasingly difficult to keep track of the multitude of releases, whether on “official” labels like Type or, with this latest release, Under The Spire, or having a clear out of music on his personal bandcamp site. What’s equally impressive is the high levels of quality control he’s exerted over it all. The most satisfying outcome from listening to The Choir, The Army is that it not only shows that Shiflet is continuing to exploit the rich vein of form he’s found himself in, but also that he’s starting to broaden his spectrum. His signature static fuelled noise is still evident in pieces like ‘Attrition’ or ‘Asymptotes’ but there’s a quiet, almost ambient quality to ‘False Flats’ and especially ‘Inching’. The former could almost be described as Americana with its mournful slide-guitar refrain, but there’s a crackle throughout that reminds you of the creator. ‘Inching’ creeps along with a low drone, treated guitars occasionally puncturing it – the music lacks a definitive texture and sounds ethereal. Shiflet is developing his sound, ensuring you’re not just buying another noise album. This could be Shiflet’s final release of the year and it suggests not only has he saved the best till last, but he’s not yet reached his peak. (RH)