Showing posts with label Drone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drone. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Lull - Continue (1996)














Lull is the side project of Mick Harris, perhaps best known as the drummer for the extreme death metal band Napalm Death. What can one expect from such a celebrated noisemaker? Certainly not anything like this. Let me just say that Lull lives up to its name. Don't expect any aggression here.

The record consists of a single, hour long track of an extremely minimal ambient drone. There is some motion, and indeed some evolution in the sound, but it all happens at a glacial pace and it took me several listens to even be aware of some of the subtleties going on beneath the surface. From what I can tell, the tones are produced electronically and there are a number of layers shifting back and forth on top of one another like the slow grinding of tectonic plates. The atmosphere is fairly dark and sinister, but it doesn't hit you over the head like some of Lustmord's stuff.

"Continue" probably works best as a background record, something to listen to while you do other things. Given that it makes the ambient music of people like Brian Eno or Harold Budd seem like speed metal, it would probably be difficult for most people to give it their full attention for very long. That being said, it does provide a nice atmosphere and does what ambient is supposed to do: lurk unobtrusively on the edge of your consciousness.

On a personal note, I once hosted "ambient night" at my college discotheque with the sole intention of preventing anyone from dancing (a rousing success, I must say) and I used this record as the grand finale to my set. I think only one person showed up that night.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Pauline Oliveros - The Wanderer (2007)














If you love the sound of the accordion, but polkas just aren't avant garde enough for your tastes, then this may be the record for you. Pauline Oliveros has long been a practitioner on the instrument and is not shy about using it in unusual ways.

"The Wanderer" collects three lengthy pieces recorded live in 1983 (resulting in the slightly irritating fact that we have to put up with occasional coughing and applauding from the audience), each featuring the instrument, and with the title track incorporating an entire accordion orchestra. The first track is a sparse affair, a duo for accordion and bandoneon that is characterized by long silences interrupted by sudden bursts of sound. It was originally performed by Oliveros and David Tudor atop a see saw and was meanth to explore the sonic changes resulting from the up and down motion. Such subtlety is, unfortunately, not captured on this disc, but once you stop listening for melodic or rhythmic paterns and learn to just appreciate the sound of the instrument itself, there is a definite beauty that emerges.

This is even more evident on the twenty minute title track where a group of more than twenty accordions play together, resulting in a mesmeric shimmering of reeds that surround simply modal melodies. Eight minutes in, percussion joins the mix and the piece erupts into energetic dance like rhythms. The various rhythms and contrapuntal patterns interlock wonderfully and it's a very exciting piece throughout.

The final track is called "Horse Sings From Cloud" and is loosely scored for any number and variety of instruments using simple words like "Sound," "Breath," "Listen," and "Change." The version here is for accordion, harmonium, bandoneon and concertina. It is primarily a drone piece and this combination of instruments works very well because of their similar, but not identical, timbres. Each one has a different limitation on the amount of time that they can sustain a given pitch, and this results in a sort of out of phase pulsing. It's the simplest piece here, but also probably the most lovely, although it can take some time to get over the seemingly harsh dissonances if you're new to this kind of music.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Tangerine Dream - Zeit (1972)














When most people think of Space Rock, they think of Pink Floyd style psychedelia, extended jams with trippy melodies and lots of swirly little arpeggios. That is to say, Space Rock designed for tourists. Zip along in your rocket ship, snap a photo of the pretty nebula and wave to the Martians. It's all very fun, but it resembles space about as much as It's A Small World reflects world politics.

Space is dark. Space is cold. Space is mostly empty. Such is the music on Zeit. Yes, that's right; before Tangerine Dream became insipid purveyors of New Age treacle, they made some truly adventurous and influential albums. Zeit is the longest, the strangest and certainly the most sinister record of their career.

At seventy-five minutes long, Zeit (the German word for "time") is certainly an appropriate title for this double album. The music is divided into four sides, but it might as well be one long piece. The music begins with a cluster of cellos slowly fading in, basically the only acoustic sound on the whole album. The following hour is made up of analogue synths droning and shifting very...................very.........................slowly. One can imagine planets forming out of primordial darkness, rivers of magma gradually cooling and hardening into the crusts of what will - in just a few billion years - become mountains and oceans.

Needless to say, Zeit is a difficult listen, particularly if you try to pay attention to the whole thing. However, those fascinated by the infinite mysteries of the cosmos will be hard pressed to find better mood music for contemplation or stargazing.