Hypnagogue Music Reviews

Brian Parnham, See None, Hear None, Speak None

Hypnagogue — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 18:21:21 +0000

In his first solo release since 2007, Brian Parnham puts forth an array of visions that, while tending more toward sources dark and tribal, also work their way into classic electronic-music forms to make for a very complete whole. See None, Hear None, Speak None comes off as a well-modulated tour through Parnham’s musical headspaces. The movement, from the drum-driven openers through wider ambient vistas and back, flows smoothly. Kicking off with the title track, Parnham first hits the listener with an almost downbeat feel. Ringing metallic notes meet string pads and round-toned percussion in a cool blend. But any thoughts of this being that sort of listen (which, considering the quality of the track, would not be a bad thing at all) get tribally drummed out at the start of “Head in the Sand.” This track and its followup, “Suspended Plumes,” are the most heavily tribal pieces here, and they make for a mind-bending stretch. “Head…” is energetic and forceful, a very potent calling fueled by absolutely thundering percussion. A sound like ringing glass and distant snarls of didgeridoo scrape across the backdrop, all underscored by a fast sequenced line. “Suspended Plumes” drops the pace and curls immediately into a thick, humid and slightly menacing space reminiscent of Roach and Metcalf’s Serpent’s Lair. Considering Parnham’s past working associations with Roach, the influence is not at all unexpected–it’s merely a continuation of chemistry. The drums are even more central here, and Parnham plays with their sound, curving and warping the shapes. He deftly melts this track into “Eroding Shore” which, as he mentions on his site, he sees as something of a reprise to a track from Roach’s Magnificent Void. The homage is right there in the big, bold pads that rumble on the low end and a sense of spacey vastness. This is the first beatless track on the disc and it leaves no question that Parnham can handle this type of flow, too. There’s an interesting stretch that begins with the track “Half Full.” This and the two tracks that follow are very short; the longest is a shade over two minutes. They come off like vignettes of dense, building sound, brief experiments forming a tenuous bridge to the latter half of the disc. “Half Full” coils up a coarse, rippling pad that squelches into the insectile, analog tangles and slightly more open space of “Tipping Point,” and then “Half Empty” roars in, sounding for all the world like big sonic buzzsaw tearing open the flimsy fabric of reality. This is just a big, savage, gut-check rip of sound at the edge of noise, and I love it. What makes this passage even more effective is the way Parnham uses them, along with a few cracks of electro-thunder, to guide us into “Business As Usual,” which has not only a lighter tone, but surprises with the appearance of a guitar. There’s an old-school familiarity about the tone of it that evokes the feel of a blend of Nine Inch Nails and Jarre. The low end is very Reznor; the high side is pure European electronica; the whole thing is three minutes that grabs and holds the attention. The retro grooves continue in the big and bouncy “While We’re Here,” which is simply a sequencer-lover’s joyride. (Need more? Forward to “Enjoy the Ride.” Which I guarantee you will.) From there Parnham works back down into darker abstract spaces with the centerpiece of the disc, “1111.” Fluid pads ebb through as didgeridoo lines rasp and slither across the space. This is a very deep track, energized by low-key percussion pulses and more of that skittering analog. One of the best standalone tracks I’ve heard in a while for pure immersion. Didge lovers (like myself) get their payoff in “Earth Mourning,” as the breathy primal tones curl around metallic clatters and an atmosphere of distinct unease. This is a very claustrophobic track, constantly and uncomfortably closing in until Parnham nudges it open with upward-moving pads. This is perhaps the most narrative track here, and Parnham plays equally well in the dark and the light. See None winds it way to the quiet finality of “Last Breath.” A meditative flow marked with a heartbeat pulses that, without a hint of morbidity, slow over time. It brings this superbly made ride to a calm close. If you like Brian Parnham, See None, Hear None, Speak None is a disc well worth the five-year wait. If you haven’t been familiar with him until now, this is an amazing place to start.

Available from Brian Parnham’s web site.

Broken Harbour, Gramophone Transmissions

Hypnagogue — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 03:38:14 +0000

Edge-of-dusk drones built out of samples from old vinyl records and loops from mellotron, piano and more skulk their way through the bleak landscape of Gramophone Transmissions, the second release from Canadian artist Broken Harbour (aka Blake Gibson). The inside cover notes that “headphones and closed eyes provide the ideal listening environment for this recording.” I’d have to agree. As Gibson moves from slightly melodic–or perhaps melody-assisted is the right word–to sparse, near-isolationist drone-spaces, you’ll want to take in as much as you can. Atmosphere and sonic texture are in full force here, dragging visceral reactions from you. In the opening track, “Drift,” mournful string sounds rasp a funereal cadence as light piano notes sprinkle across the frame. It’s about as light as the disc gets before Gibson starts to spiral down to bleaker zones. The two parts of the “The Ballad of Dave Bowman” make sure you understand that we’re done with anything but drone. The first is a stripped-down soundfield crackling with the static of a wayward transmission; the second builds off a drone with a pipe-organ feel, a steady, mildly swirling wash of sound that seems to pick up intensity as it curls around you. They’re both chock full of activity compared to “Titan.” This is probably the starkest track on the disc. It reaches a very minimal point where the pads thin out and weaken and stretches of near-silence, where just a vinyl crackle fills the space, take over. The emptiness of it is quite affecting. Here, like nowhere else on the disc, Gibson conveys the sense that you are quite alone in this place. In “Dark Clouds Gathering in the West” Gibson hangs a pall of sound, a wavering expanse of pure grey, then layers it with eerie vocal wails. This track just gets more unsettling as it moves along–and there’s 12 minutes of it to get through. Gibson moves firmly into dark ambient territory with “Maelstrom (The Descent).” Here he just industrially grinds his way into your skull for over 15 minutes, overwhelming you with the sheer density of sound. It’s actually a fairly dynamic piece; for all its skull-corroding abrasiveness, it’s also got a fair degree of motion, albeit tectonic in speed. The disc closes with “Unforeseen Consequences,” where Gibson switches back to less edgy pads and drones. The tone is still shadowy and uncertain, but the feel is somewhat calmer. By disc’s end you haven’t left Gibson’s desolate musical homeland; you’ve just crossed it, ready, perhaps to go again. Gramophone Transmissions will definitely appeal to the dark ambient crowd and will likely work well for those who appreciate drone–but anyone into beatless, atmospheric wanderings should have a go as well. An excellent new release from a strong dark talent.

Available from the Broken Harbour web site.

Åpne Sinn, En Seier

Hypnagogue — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 04:15:04 +0000

In his second outing, Åpne Sinn (aka Geoff Small) enlists ambient friends Steve Brand and Peter James in pulling together a strong blend of drifting ambient washes that glide across understated tribal touches and skirt the edge of shadow when they’re not simply easing forward with cloud-motion grace. The pacing here is wonderful; it’s part of what makes the disc stand out. Small skillfully guides the listener through his spaces, starting with “Son of Low Birth,” where that tribal percussion loops around intersecting bell-curve pads. There’s a strong touch of Roach in the flow, but it’s all Åpne Sinn at the core, and the sound layers run deep. From here the flows cools into a long stretch of quiet music. Brand is called in for one of the longest tracks here, “Unconquered,” to kick off this section. Brand’s signature is a vast, contemplative expanse of ambient washes, and that feel blends readily into Small’s often slow-handed constructs. There’s very good chemistry here that results in a warm and somewhat dark drift. The next track, “His Great Heart,” continues the quiet with yawning drones that sound quite like a harmonium. Again, there’s a quality of warmth at work; this piece has a very personal feel, like there’s an unspoken dedication being made. James joins Small for “What Rough Beast.” This is the darkest track on En Seier, working up from a low grumble and what to my ears sounds like the crackle of a fire. It does indeed slouch its way through its eight-minute length, trailing a slight sense of unease. The detail here is fantastic, and the atmosphere is just thick with sound. For that it’s matched only by “Still Transmitting,” where Small employs reverse echo over soft drones and creates a cool sense of something coming back at your from a distance, some forgotten message still carried on unseen waves. Small eases the beat back in in the form of subdued heartbeat pulses that open into light percussion on “The Long Plains,” the second collaboration with Brand. It subtly marks the end of that rich, quiet stretch and brings us back to the surface before the disc closes with the absolute sighing softness of “Deep Breath Out”–an accurate title if ever there was one. It’s 12 minutes of meditation-perfect ambient pads breathing slowly. The feel is light, calm and utterly unhurried. Looping this track alone would make for a superb ambient listen. Which would be fine, but I suggest you simply loop En Seier for a while, like I did. The way it’s paced turns it into a very workable circular listen, a quite complete journey. Just allow yourself to be guided along and trust Geoff Small to get you where you’re going. This is a great sophomore release and, as I said with his debut Espiritista, firmly marks Åpne Sinn as a name worth listening to and remembering.

Available from Relaxed Machinery.

Kodomo, Frozen in Motion

Hypnagogue — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 04:22:09 +0000

Frozen in Motion erupts into your eardrums with a metallic clatter and pinpoint shots of sound and then, just shy of a minute in, reforms itself in a dubstep-based mode and takes full control of your groove centers. This is “Hajime,” the first track, and it’s the stepping-off point for a lip-smacking dose of sweet electronica. Chris Child, recording as Kodomo, takes a sound-set steeped in the ordinary noises of everday life and kneads them into new shapes to put together in this constantly shifting, always engaging CD. Heavy on the jerky rhythms of glitch and, as noted, giving deep debt to dubstep, Frozen in Motion is stocked full of ear-catching moments. Check out the point in “S Equals Zero” where things suddenly take off like someone gave an orchestra playing Phillip Glass an overdose of Red Bull–this coming out of a quieter, much more lounge-friendly structure to take you by surprise. Stutter-stop glitches at just the right moments pump it up even further up the cool scale. I like the industrial edge that pushes “Collide,” along with the pulse-modulated and always uncertain rhythm at work, like a car that’s just about out of gas, surging unevenly. “Gate 5A” goes post-rock, complete with catchy hook and lush string sounds, including cello from Dave Eggar, to soften it up. Guitar from Thad De Brock rounds out the texture nicely and helps set the track apart from the more purely electronic tracks. The title track feels like a guilty pleasure of dance-floor-worthy riffs. Again, Child plays with the modulation, shoving sounds at us and pulling them right back. This track possesses serious funk. Overall Child does a great job of mixing up his styles, track to track, but staying within that common framework of dubstep/glitch as his driving themes. With each element doled out wisely rather than thickly ladled on, Frozen in Motion remains engaging, start to finish. This is a disc you most definitely need to hear.

Available from Kodomo’s web site.

Radio Free Clear Light, Joyful Noise Vol. 1: Tamoanchan

Hypnagogue — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 19:06:33 +0000

Please do not go into Radio Free Clear Light’s Joyful Noise Vol 1: Tamoanchan planning to listen to it. That’s not what you do. Rather, you let it pull you in and surround you with random washes and snippets of sound from countless sources that you’re meant to just be near, to be within and to look, aurally speaking, at what you’re being presented with. What you do with the influx of impressions is up to you, and mileage will vary greatly. RFCL head Juan Carlos Mendizabal calls the piece an updated sacrifice of sorts, taking the old–the cast-off bits and pieces captured in the found sounds and scavenged loops–and pairing them with the “living blood” of the improvisational moment in this sonic mass. What comes of it is something less modern primitive than urban primitive, a citified pulse jammed in synch with old belief and the timeless simplicity of the acoustic. Guitar melodies carved out in the almost ungraceful cadence of one lonely note at a time, a trumpet played with ragged, amateurish zeal, a wailing sax trying to find its key, all pushed across your scope of mental vision by a wayward tide of understated sound. Tamoanchan happens around you as you listen, with moments prodding you to a more vivid awareness. There are few tactile points of reference for you to latch onto, which all but forces you into a sort of floaty acceptance. So just put on the headphones, open your mind and join in the sacrifice. It’s wonderfully off-kilter, ripe with the energy of improv and very, oddly, deep. I’m not always sure what I’m listening to on Tamoanchan, but I know it’s doing a hell of a job keeping me interested.

Available from Black Note Music.

Andreas, Magickal Nights

Hypnagogue — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 03:31:39 +0000

Award-winning New Age composer Louie Andreas lays down a set of quiet, romantic tracks on his new release, Magickal Nights. Piano and synthesized flute feature heavily in the seven tracks here, dancing their way across light pads. It’s a beautifully made album that unfortunately is just too light for my personal tastes. There’s not a lot of difference, track to track, so the whole things leans toward the repetitive side before too long. It’s pleasant enough at first but without any real dynamic it loses its flavor well before it’s done. Listeners more in tune with very light New Age instrumentals/healing music might find more to take hold of here. I kept waiting for something more to happen. Samples are available, of course, so have a listen.

Available from Paradise Music.

Jeff Talman, Nature of the Night Sky

Hypnagogue — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 17:53:50 +0000

On one hand, I think you had to be there. Imagine walking into a clearing at dusk in a Bavarian forest. Speakers in the trees begin to play as the light fades, and the space is enveloped in long drone tones. You’re told that it’s the resonance of 15 stars, sounds normally too low to be heard, magnified 1,000,000 times. It goes on for 50 minutes as the stars fill the quiet sky. That’s the origin of the music, as an installation piece, and that’s probably where it was best experienced. On the other hand, looking at it strictly as ambient music, Talman, an artist known for his work in exploring the resonant qualities of different spaces, takes his star-sounds and maps out a very deep voyage. He employs binaural stereo to replicate the surround-sound environment that naturally occurred in the installation, and the added depth makes the sound a little more soothing. The time passes calmly. Shifts in tone are small and easily made, leaving not so much as a ripple in the flow. This is a good disc for low-volume listening; it’s shadowy and hushed, filling your listening space and gently morphing itself across the 50 minutes, largely unnoticed aside from its mental balm effects. Listening to Nature of the Night Sky makes me wish I had been there in that forest space to take in the blend of sound and emerging starlight. I may just set up my outdoor speakers and create my own version at home. An interesting release from Jeff Talman.

Available from CD Baby.

Mark Zampella, Tone Poems for Fuzzy Guitar

Hypnagogue — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 14:53:17 +0000

Mark Zampella says the distorted guitar sounds on his first solo release are layered, “like a sonic lasagna.” That alone conveys some of the sense of play at work on Tone Poems for Fuzzy Guitar, a collection of improvised, looped guitar works. Zampella keeps his experiments fresh track to track. The round-and-round, sequencer-like buzz of “Hive” is markedly different than the sustained, droning notes he eases out in “Funnel Cloud,” which in turn is nothing like very cool “Undertow,” my favorite track here. Zampella shows a lot of depth on this easy groove. It’s got a laid-back feel with touches of post-rock construction at the edges and a near-glitch rhythm. There’s a sexy little bass run in the middle (picking up the lead of a loop of scale-practice guitar), and the whole thing is shot through with a warbling, prayer-call-like vocal sample that gives it an exotic taste. Another favorite is the trippy “Kneel.” I can’t help but feel there’s a bit of a political statement hiding under the feedback-spiked wails here. Zampella tucks creatively spliced sound bites from some pol’s speech into the background, stitching together a bit of randomized, nonsensical dogma, interspersed with short blasts of applause. It’s effective, and delightfully weird.

Zampella gives a nod to Frippertonics in notes for the CD, and it certainly owes that debt of gratitude and inspiration. The constantly building layers and increasing depths of sound are rooted there, allowing Zampella to then add his own style and flair. The result is a very good solo debut and the arrival of an interesting and promising voice in ambient.

Available at CD Baby.

The Jazzfakers, Two

Hypnagogue — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 21:57:00 +0000

Let’s pick a few descriptors out of a hat here, just to match what’s going on with this disc…deconstructionist, anarchic, proto-avant-garde, experimental. Or, more to the point, the sound of a busload of jazz musicians driving off a cliff. On fire. Robert Pepper of the noise/experimental collective PAS gathers a small crew of like-minded adventurers and assails jazz structure on Two. By “assails” I mean “clubs it to within an inch of its life with wild abandon.” Let me say right off the bat that this isn’t for everyone. Bring your high tolerance for improvisation, load yourself a bag full of “Huh?” and give it a try. In places this crew almost adheres to a listenable structure, as with the opener, “Swift Time DNA” and the early stages of “Flower Cacophony” before it gets torn to anti-music shreds, but for the most part it’s about jamming wildly around the concept. There’s humor at work here, buried under the multiple-car-crash sensibility. Pepper and his cohorts are playing with ideas of jazz’s free-ness, the sense that often informs the artform that no one’s really steering the ship, that the sound is just veering wildly of its own accord and will find its way back sooner or later. At the root, though, there’s some sort of mad intelligent design at work. That is, if you can stand it long enough to try to find it. This will not be easy.

Find it at CD Universe.

Justin Vanderberg, Synthetic Memories

Hypnagogue — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 13:03:35 +0000

On his first release since his 2007 debut, In Waking Moments, Justin Vanderberg ushers his listeners through gossamer-winged ambient drifts and homages to the “masters of the sequencer” who inspired his own musical explorations. Vanderberg’s modus is to craft drifts that are as substantial as a cloud–airy, high whispers of chord–and layer them into rich, calming musical breaths. Over these he places minimal touches of more concrete sound. Take the deep flow of “67,” for example, where a pair of notes patiently rise and descend in a simple call-and-response match across the expanse of lower-note pads. Or the graceful “Drops,”which Vanderberg accents with rain-glistened piano notes and a light touch of twirling flute. Vanderberg’s comparatively uptempo pieces work well, too, although “uptempo” might be too strong a word for these rhythmically laid-back songs. “From Below,” where Vanderberg is ably assisted by Spotted Peccary head Jon Jenkins, kicks the disc off in gear with a steady, borderline-tribal drum line that pulses through a rising narrative. Jenkins’ presence here, musically and as co-composer, definitely calls to mind the cinematic sound that’s the signature of his work with David Helpling, but does so without over-riding Vanderberg. “The Path” brings keys and light hand percussion to play with the washes in a mix that will likely set the toes tapping. The title track is a classic sequencer piece, squared-off math constructs pinging and bouncing in a mix of rhythmic permutations. A distinct homage without just sounding fawnish. Synthetic Memories is a very soft disc overall, which lets the punchier elements, the twitching sequencer lines and percussion, pop just a bit more–but never to the point of taking the light away from the carefully constructed drifts. It’s a great low-volume listen that stands up to scrutiny, and it doesn’t wear out its welcome in repeat plays. Expect to listen to this one often. Synthetic Memories is an excellent and long-overdue return from Justin Vanderberg.

Available from Spotted Peccary.