That interview that I mentioned was posted here. I name-dropped a lot of friends. If you are reading this, consider checking to see if you were mentioned.
A lot of times people seem to think that focusing on tape, either for
releasing music or for making music, is primarily based on nostalgia.
Many people have a very teleological concept of recorded media and
recording technologies: that we are all working toward two goals. The
first is convenience and the second is a perfect transparency of the
medium so that the listener can hear a faithful representation of the
sound as intended. When these values are assumed to be the obvious,
right, ones, the only other logical explanation for sticking with tape
is nostalgia or simply being contrarian. My approach to using tape to
produce and release music that is largely divorced from nostalgia. I
have been thinking a lot lately about why I believe tape technology is
relevant to artistic practice now. There are so many other technologies
that are more flexible, and that produce a cleaner result. So, why would
someone stick with this outmoded and incredibly frustrating medium?
Read more At The Fiddleback
On the Ruins of the Great Black Swamp
Showing posts with label Essays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Essays. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
5 questions
In the past, I have been really nervous about talking openly about my work. I have been working to get better at that recently. As a result, I have been working on writing down my ideas about what I do and why I do it. One extensive example of this will be a published interview that will be coming out soon. I will post here when it is out. Until then, here are some answers to 5 questions that Jesse, at Crow With No Mouth, asked all participants of the 2013 series. I think this is a really great idea. I hope that, as more people's responses are posted, an interesting dialogue will begin to emerge. In any case, here is a link to the growing list of answers.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
What color is your money? Green? Then yes, I do dot blobs.
I was fortunate enough to be able to get tattooed a few days ago. It had been three years since my last one. This is the longest I have ever gone since I first started getting tattooed at the age of 20 or 21. It is an experience that I cherish for a variety of reasons. I yearn for it and the desire to get in the chair again was getting to be too much to bear. After this recent tattooing experience, I felt that I was about time that I commit my thoughts on the topic to writing. So, here goes.
Being tattooed is a strange and beautiful experience for me at all stages of the process: planning an idea, being tattooed, assimilating the new tattoo into my body image, and interfacing with the world through tattooed skin.
I have known that I wanted tattoos since I was quite young. I consciously remember having the conversation with my parents at the age of 12 or so. However, I am sure the idea had been brewing in my pre-adolescent mind for years prior. Around that time I remember trying to cut a design into myself so that I could color it in with a blue pen. I am thankful that I didn't succeed and gave up. I am also thankful that I was unable to get tattooed at that time because both designs are ones that I would certainly regret.
When the time came that I was ready to commit, I spent several weeks drawing, painting, and editing the design that I was going to get. I already had the placement, dimensions, and basic contours of the shape in mind. I then sat on the idea for about 6 months. If you know me, you already know that I over think things. A decision like this was one that I felt particularly compelled to over think. I knew that I wanted to be tattooed. By this time, I knew that I wanted to be fairly heavily tattooed. However, I was concerned that getting the tattoo would change the way I thought about myself. I was concerned that I was doing it just because I thought it would be cool. I was also uncertain about what it would feel like to have my body change so suddenly. As I built up to the moment when I was going to get it done and actually went through with it, I noticed that for the past year, I had been picturing my body in this new way and with this new addition. The result was that once it was done, it didn't feel like a change so much as an uncovering of something that was already there. Integrating the new tattoo into my internal, body image required little to no adjustment. It just felt right.
While many find it profoundly unpleasant, I find the process of getting tattooed to be sublimely engaging and transformative. Consciously choosing to confront physical pain when my every instinct tells me to avoid it tests my will at first, but then, allows me to experience the contours of my body in new and illuminating ways.
First, the way the body processes this pain is fascinating. There have been moments while being tattooed when applying the machine to one part of the body produces sensation in a completely different one. For instance, once while Conan Lea was tattooing my shoulder, I felt a sensation (I remember it as a tickle) in my foot. These kinds of experiences helped me to construct a chaotic and indeterminate map of nerve connections that reveal how little I know about how my body processes sensations.
Second, the way the body copes with pain is strangely predictable and produces unexpected results. After a few years of being tattooed fairly regularly, I began to notice that the pain was only overwhelming for the first half hour of getting tattooed. I could predict, with a fair amount of accuracy, that at the half hour mark, the endorphins would kick in and the pain would become more manageable. Sitting as a participant observer of my own body's pain-management faculties made me intimately aware of the bodily processes that are out of my control. This experience is especially profound because we tend to think of our bodies as controlled by our minds unless some debilitating malfunction wrests the control away from our conscious mind. To experience that autonomous action of the body in a safe and non-threatening circumstance is thrilling. A result of that coping strategy is a fascinating mental and physical exhaustion that comes after the tattoo. I feel drained even after relatively short sessions. My most recent session was only about 3 hours, but I was wiped out. I couldn't imagine how I once sat for a 7 hour session and then drove 5 hours home, by myself, and in the middle of the night.
Third, the kind of pain that I experience when getting tattooed is unlike any other experience of pain that I have had. Certainly that is partly because it is consciously chosen. It is also different because it is so prolonged. It is also different in that, while most pain tells your conscious mind that damage is being done to the body or that a foreign object is transgressing the fragile boundary between your body and the outside world, I don't mentally interpret the pain of getting tattooed in that way. Even though my body is being damaged, I do not emotionally interpret the experience in that way. There is a strange cognitive break between the sensory stimulus and the way my conscious mind interprets that stimulus. The same cannot be said of the sensation of being pierced. Even though the pain is relatively minor and happens quickly, it feels more abject to me. Getting pierced feels like an invasion of my body: one that I want, but am equally repelled by. The sensation of being tattooed is also unique in that it is purely surface level pain. When I am tattooed over bones, they rattle and reverberate under my skin. When I am tattooed over tendons, they vibrate like the strings of a bass. But, these internal structures are not in danger of damage. they are just brought closer to the surface in a strange way.
After the tattoo is complete, there is an odd, but relatively predictable adjustment period. I mentioned before that the kind of forethought I put into each addition makes it feel like a design is being uncovered rather than something foreign applied. However, the healing process does have a sense of foreignness.
First, the tattoo feels fragile. As the mixture of blood and ink oozes for the first 12 hrs, it feels as though the design is not yet set. I fear that if I bump it, the ink will bleed or smear or if I touch it, I will transfer some infectious agent into the design that will ruin the healed product. In either case, I feel that I need to treat the area with the degree of care that I would when borrowing something precious from someone else. It is not yet mine to do with as I please.
Then, the skin begins to dry, crack, peel, and sometimes scab. Throughout both of these stages, I feel that my motion is impeded. At this stage, I feel that moving normally will cause the damaged skin to come off before it is fully healed leaving scars or pulling out the ink before it fully integrates into the skin. Again, the body part is not yet mine.
Afterward, the new skin that emerges from under the flaking old feels unnaturally smooth. It is like hyper-sensitive rice paper or cellophane that itches uncontrollably, that responds wildly to the slightest touch from wind or the fabric of my clothing, and is always in danger of tearing. The combination of these sensations makes my otherwise cohesive bodily border feel fragmented like one area has been annexed by some occupying force.
Finally, the piece heals and my skin boundary feels intact again. There is rarely any adjustment period in which I need to re-imagine what my body looks like save the narcissism involved in prolonged mirror-gazing. The only adjustment that takes place is in the new way that I interface with the rest of the world through my altered skin. As I have continued to get tattooed, I have been progressively moving into more and more visible territory. My first tattoo was on the back of my arm: visible in a short sleeved shirt but not from the front. The second one was on the inside of the arm. It subtly poked out into the front and could be seen when facing me, but could easily be missed. When I got the piece that wraps around from my elbow to the outside facing surface of my arm, something changed. I felt more exposed in short sleeved shirts. I wasn't worried about the judgment that this added exposure might bring. But, it was a strange and unexpected transition to take something that was previously relatively private and to move it out into the visual field of strangers. Moving through the world was now irreversibly transformed. I now think about if I am going to wear long sleeves or short taking into consideration more than the weather. This is not a change that I regret or resent. In fact, it is likely all in my head. But, becoming conscious of it was an interesting experience.
As I have said, I have the tendency to over think everything. The journey of getting tattooed has provided me with ample material for pointless contemplation. My worry early on in the process was that it would change the way I had previously viewed myself. It might have done so, but in an unexpected and welcomed way. As silly as this might sound, I have noticed an increased tendency in myself to think of my body as a piece of art constantly in progress. In some ways, that makes the need to get tattooed more pronounced. Having an incomplete work produces significant discomfort. However, the tattooed body as a time based art form, constantly shifting and changing, is an intellectually challenging and rewarding performance to live.
Being tattooed is a strange and beautiful experience for me at all stages of the process: planning an idea, being tattooed, assimilating the new tattoo into my body image, and interfacing with the world through tattooed skin.
I have known that I wanted tattoos since I was quite young. I consciously remember having the conversation with my parents at the age of 12 or so. However, I am sure the idea had been brewing in my pre-adolescent mind for years prior. Around that time I remember trying to cut a design into myself so that I could color it in with a blue pen. I am thankful that I didn't succeed and gave up. I am also thankful that I was unable to get tattooed at that time because both designs are ones that I would certainly regret.
When the time came that I was ready to commit, I spent several weeks drawing, painting, and editing the design that I was going to get. I already had the placement, dimensions, and basic contours of the shape in mind. I then sat on the idea for about 6 months. If you know me, you already know that I over think things. A decision like this was one that I felt particularly compelled to over think. I knew that I wanted to be tattooed. By this time, I knew that I wanted to be fairly heavily tattooed. However, I was concerned that getting the tattoo would change the way I thought about myself. I was concerned that I was doing it just because I thought it would be cool. I was also uncertain about what it would feel like to have my body change so suddenly. As I built up to the moment when I was going to get it done and actually went through with it, I noticed that for the past year, I had been picturing my body in this new way and with this new addition. The result was that once it was done, it didn't feel like a change so much as an uncovering of something that was already there. Integrating the new tattoo into my internal, body image required little to no adjustment. It just felt right.
While many find it profoundly unpleasant, I find the process of getting tattooed to be sublimely engaging and transformative. Consciously choosing to confront physical pain when my every instinct tells me to avoid it tests my will at first, but then, allows me to experience the contours of my body in new and illuminating ways.
First, the way the body processes this pain is fascinating. There have been moments while being tattooed when applying the machine to one part of the body produces sensation in a completely different one. For instance, once while Conan Lea was tattooing my shoulder, I felt a sensation (I remember it as a tickle) in my foot. These kinds of experiences helped me to construct a chaotic and indeterminate map of nerve connections that reveal how little I know about how my body processes sensations.
Second, the way the body copes with pain is strangely predictable and produces unexpected results. After a few years of being tattooed fairly regularly, I began to notice that the pain was only overwhelming for the first half hour of getting tattooed. I could predict, with a fair amount of accuracy, that at the half hour mark, the endorphins would kick in and the pain would become more manageable. Sitting as a participant observer of my own body's pain-management faculties made me intimately aware of the bodily processes that are out of my control. This experience is especially profound because we tend to think of our bodies as controlled by our minds unless some debilitating malfunction wrests the control away from our conscious mind. To experience that autonomous action of the body in a safe and non-threatening circumstance is thrilling. A result of that coping strategy is a fascinating mental and physical exhaustion that comes after the tattoo. I feel drained even after relatively short sessions. My most recent session was only about 3 hours, but I was wiped out. I couldn't imagine how I once sat for a 7 hour session and then drove 5 hours home, by myself, and in the middle of the night.
Third, the kind of pain that I experience when getting tattooed is unlike any other experience of pain that I have had. Certainly that is partly because it is consciously chosen. It is also different because it is so prolonged. It is also different in that, while most pain tells your conscious mind that damage is being done to the body or that a foreign object is transgressing the fragile boundary between your body and the outside world, I don't mentally interpret the pain of getting tattooed in that way. Even though my body is being damaged, I do not emotionally interpret the experience in that way. There is a strange cognitive break between the sensory stimulus and the way my conscious mind interprets that stimulus. The same cannot be said of the sensation of being pierced. Even though the pain is relatively minor and happens quickly, it feels more abject to me. Getting pierced feels like an invasion of my body: one that I want, but am equally repelled by. The sensation of being tattooed is also unique in that it is purely surface level pain. When I am tattooed over bones, they rattle and reverberate under my skin. When I am tattooed over tendons, they vibrate like the strings of a bass. But, these internal structures are not in danger of damage. they are just brought closer to the surface in a strange way.
After the tattoo is complete, there is an odd, but relatively predictable adjustment period. I mentioned before that the kind of forethought I put into each addition makes it feel like a design is being uncovered rather than something foreign applied. However, the healing process does have a sense of foreignness.
First, the tattoo feels fragile. As the mixture of blood and ink oozes for the first 12 hrs, it feels as though the design is not yet set. I fear that if I bump it, the ink will bleed or smear or if I touch it, I will transfer some infectious agent into the design that will ruin the healed product. In either case, I feel that I need to treat the area with the degree of care that I would when borrowing something precious from someone else. It is not yet mine to do with as I please.
Then, the skin begins to dry, crack, peel, and sometimes scab. Throughout both of these stages, I feel that my motion is impeded. At this stage, I feel that moving normally will cause the damaged skin to come off before it is fully healed leaving scars or pulling out the ink before it fully integrates into the skin. Again, the body part is not yet mine.
Afterward, the new skin that emerges from under the flaking old feels unnaturally smooth. It is like hyper-sensitive rice paper or cellophane that itches uncontrollably, that responds wildly to the slightest touch from wind or the fabric of my clothing, and is always in danger of tearing. The combination of these sensations makes my otherwise cohesive bodily border feel fragmented like one area has been annexed by some occupying force.
Finally, the piece heals and my skin boundary feels intact again. There is rarely any adjustment period in which I need to re-imagine what my body looks like save the narcissism involved in prolonged mirror-gazing. The only adjustment that takes place is in the new way that I interface with the rest of the world through my altered skin. As I have continued to get tattooed, I have been progressively moving into more and more visible territory. My first tattoo was on the back of my arm: visible in a short sleeved shirt but not from the front. The second one was on the inside of the arm. It subtly poked out into the front and could be seen when facing me, but could easily be missed. When I got the piece that wraps around from my elbow to the outside facing surface of my arm, something changed. I felt more exposed in short sleeved shirts. I wasn't worried about the judgment that this added exposure might bring. But, it was a strange and unexpected transition to take something that was previously relatively private and to move it out into the visual field of strangers. Moving through the world was now irreversibly transformed. I now think about if I am going to wear long sleeves or short taking into consideration more than the weather. This is not a change that I regret or resent. In fact, it is likely all in my head. But, becoming conscious of it was an interesting experience.
As I have said, I have the tendency to over think everything. The journey of getting tattooed has provided me with ample material for pointless contemplation. My worry early on in the process was that it would change the way I had previously viewed myself. It might have done so, but in an unexpected and welcomed way. As silly as this might sound, I have noticed an increased tendency in myself to think of my body as a piece of art constantly in progress. In some ways, that makes the need to get tattooed more pronounced. Having an incomplete work produces significant discomfort. However, the tattooed body as a time based art form, constantly shifting and changing, is an intellectually challenging and rewarding performance to live.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Respect
I had a strange experience last night. A Swiss man named Reto Mader played in Toledo OH, about 30 minutes from my home. A few Months ago I was contacted by someone at Ramalama records in Toledo about playing this show. After determining that I was able to do the show, I looked into Mader's work and became really interested. I got excited about the show and was really interested in playing at Ramalama because it is part of a dying breed of independent record stores. However, i was a bit skeptical. In general, I have had bad experiences with the owner of the store and, more generally, I have had bad experiences playing shows set up by people who do not specialize in noise, EAI, or other out sounds. I was willing to give it a shot.
I felt good about my set. I was able to try out some new stuff in a relatively low risk situation and it turned out well.
Reto Mader, aka RM74, was kind, gracious, and enthusiastic. This was the last stop on a brief, 6 day tour in The States. He originally came out here from Switzerland to play the Utech Records Festival put on by the phenomenal Utech Records label. His set was really strong. It was a sophisticated combination of dark drone metal and high brow improvisation using a bass, kalimba, other devices, and loop pedals. There were three basic kinds of pieces that he played each of which resembled songs in their fairly clear use of a beginning, middle, and end. He began with an interesting percussive piece gently pounding out and looping rhythmic passages using a mallet on the body of the bass. He then layered in some drones and bass riffs on top. In the middle there was a mind bending, multi-layered, polyrhythmic, Kalimba piece that was incredible. The rest of the "songs" were looped and layered bass riffs that sometimes included pre-recorded sounds and/or synthesizer drones. These were really atmospheric, somewhat dark, and very powerful. However, after a while, they became a bit repetitive as each one followed much the same format. Overall, I was really pleased with his set and was very thankful to have been able to see it.
We chatted, traded music, and had a good time.
The only problem is that there were roughly 5 people in attendance including myself and my partner, the woman who was touring with him, and two other friends of mine. The person who had set up the show did not even put up a flyer at the record store, nor did he stick around to see the show. In fact, the amp he brought for Mader to use did not work. Reto thought the promoter had gone to get another amp, but several hours later we began to suspect that he had simply gone home. Luckily Gabe Beam, one of the audience members agreed to bring his amp.
I was really frustrated by the lack of respect that the promoter showed for our guest. I explained to the guys at the shop that, theoretically, we are all on the same team. We are all trying to make life in the area less shitty for ourselves and for others. We do ourselves a disservice when we prove to people that their preconceived notions about the Midwest are accurate.
The promoter called to yell at me. It was a lot of silly drama, but I think I realize now that it is rarely a good idea to contact people who are not musicians to set up a show. A friend, Blake Edwards, has been talking about putting a simple primer on how to set up shows properly and I think we need to do it. Here are my brief guidelines.
If you are setting up a show, at MINIMUM, you owe out of town bands the following.
1) A simple meal.
2) A place to stay, even just a spot on your floor.
3) Promotion including online posts and a flyer.
4) Gas money.
5) The consideration to show up and pay attention.
6) Adequate equipment that meets the performer's needs.
Keep this in mind people. Lets all be friends and help each other out.
I felt good about my set. I was able to try out some new stuff in a relatively low risk situation and it turned out well.
Reto Mader, aka RM74, was kind, gracious, and enthusiastic. This was the last stop on a brief, 6 day tour in The States. He originally came out here from Switzerland to play the Utech Records Festival put on by the phenomenal Utech Records label. His set was really strong. It was a sophisticated combination of dark drone metal and high brow improvisation using a bass, kalimba, other devices, and loop pedals. There were three basic kinds of pieces that he played each of which resembled songs in their fairly clear use of a beginning, middle, and end. He began with an interesting percussive piece gently pounding out and looping rhythmic passages using a mallet on the body of the bass. He then layered in some drones and bass riffs on top. In the middle there was a mind bending, multi-layered, polyrhythmic, Kalimba piece that was incredible. The rest of the "songs" were looped and layered bass riffs that sometimes included pre-recorded sounds and/or synthesizer drones. These were really atmospheric, somewhat dark, and very powerful. However, after a while, they became a bit repetitive as each one followed much the same format. Overall, I was really pleased with his set and was very thankful to have been able to see it.
We chatted, traded music, and had a good time.
The only problem is that there were roughly 5 people in attendance including myself and my partner, the woman who was touring with him, and two other friends of mine. The person who had set up the show did not even put up a flyer at the record store, nor did he stick around to see the show. In fact, the amp he brought for Mader to use did not work. Reto thought the promoter had gone to get another amp, but several hours later we began to suspect that he had simply gone home. Luckily Gabe Beam, one of the audience members agreed to bring his amp.
I was really frustrated by the lack of respect that the promoter showed for our guest. I explained to the guys at the shop that, theoretically, we are all on the same team. We are all trying to make life in the area less shitty for ourselves and for others. We do ourselves a disservice when we prove to people that their preconceived notions about the Midwest are accurate.
The promoter called to yell at me. It was a lot of silly drama, but I think I realize now that it is rarely a good idea to contact people who are not musicians to set up a show. A friend, Blake Edwards, has been talking about putting a simple primer on how to set up shows properly and I think we need to do it. Here are my brief guidelines.
If you are setting up a show, at MINIMUM, you owe out of town bands the following.
1) A simple meal.
2) A place to stay, even just a spot on your floor.
3) Promotion including online posts and a flyer.
4) Gas money.
5) The consideration to show up and pay attention.
6) Adequate equipment that meets the performer's needs.
Keep this in mind people. Lets all be friends and help each other out.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
I rarely listen to things I have recorded. But right now I am trying to finish up a piece for this new record that should be out in January or February. Side B needs some edits. I was unsure about the composition, wondering if it was any good at all. Aaron Dilloway suggested that I merely edit the beginning. Really, It could be more accurately described as an introduction as it is a brief bit that leads into the main body of the piece. In any case, I listened to the track thinking that it might require significant revision. However, it seems that since I have forgotten what the track sounds like, it is actually much better than I remember. I still agree that the intro needs to be worked on, but I m quite pleased with the rest. I have been trying out a few ways to change the beginning and think I might be onto something. Perhaps I will be able to finish it tomorrow.
As I was saying, I rarely listen to things I have recorded. While trying to determine how to edit this piece, I listened through the track that will be side A of the same record. I wanted to remind myself of what that one sounded like for 2 reasons. The first is that I wanted to make sure that any of the changes I was thinking about making would actually fit: I needed to make sure that the tracks would still be thematically linked given the changes I was about to make. The second is that I wanted to make sure that the tracks would not be too similar in narrative structure.
The result of this new listen is that I have a renewed love of both tracks. It is nice to be away from these pieces long enough to be able to discover them fresh. In this case, it had been since the summer that I last listened to them. That seemed to be just enough time and distance for them to sound better than I had remembered.
After listening to these two tracks, my Itunes went to a track of mine from quite a while ago: "Heraclitus." I often remember liking the CD but am usually afraid to listen to it. I fear that if I listen to it, it will be no good. Probably the last time I listened to this CD was in 2009. Hearing it again just now, felt good. The record is good. It is really nice to be reminded sometimes that doing this work is not futile and sometimes it works out okay.
For your information, here is a link to Frans DeWaard's review of the cd from when it originally came out.
"JASON ZEH - HERACLITUS (CD by C.I.P.)
In the very first few minutes of Jason Zeh's debut CD (following several CDR releases including one on Gameboy Records) we hear a 'tabletop cassette recorder over a candle flame while recording'. This is the very basic thing that is used to create the rest of the composition - all melted into one piece, from start to finish. The processing stages this went through all deals with cassettes, in which literally everything from the cassette, the shells, guide rollers and pressure pads is used to alter the sound. All of these stages were recorded and from all these recordings the final composition was created. A dense work, which at times had some similarities to the work of Howard Stezler (especially his most recent work 'Bond Inlets') or Brutum Fullmen, of corroded sounds, rotten sounds and decay in general. Divided into several parts, with quite some dynamics (although things never get really loud), this is simply one of the most engaging things I heard recently. While on one hand connected to the world of microsound, mainly through the final composition, the techniques are more or less ancient, yet even by any old standard, this all sounds mysterious and not muffled, or hidden in a bath of hiss, like many of his ancestors did sound on tape. It owes in the technique department more to the old masters of musique concrete, yet with an entirely different outcome. As Heraclitus said you can never step into the same river twice (panta rhei), you can loop a tape, but it never sounds the same. Highlight, for me, of this week. (FdW)
Address: http://www.cipsite.net"
Also, on an unrelated note, here is a sound sample Frans recently posted. It is a clip of Brombron 16 that Ben Gwilliam and I recorded in Nijmegen Netherlands last October. The CD should be out now on Frans DeWaard's Korm Plastics.
As I was saying, I rarely listen to things I have recorded. While trying to determine how to edit this piece, I listened through the track that will be side A of the same record. I wanted to remind myself of what that one sounded like for 2 reasons. The first is that I wanted to make sure that any of the changes I was thinking about making would actually fit: I needed to make sure that the tracks would still be thematically linked given the changes I was about to make. The second is that I wanted to make sure that the tracks would not be too similar in narrative structure.
The result of this new listen is that I have a renewed love of both tracks. It is nice to be away from these pieces long enough to be able to discover them fresh. In this case, it had been since the summer that I last listened to them. That seemed to be just enough time and distance for them to sound better than I had remembered.
After listening to these two tracks, my Itunes went to a track of mine from quite a while ago: "Heraclitus." I often remember liking the CD but am usually afraid to listen to it. I fear that if I listen to it, it will be no good. Probably the last time I listened to this CD was in 2009. Hearing it again just now, felt good. The record is good. It is really nice to be reminded sometimes that doing this work is not futile and sometimes it works out okay.
For your information, here is a link to Frans DeWaard's review of the cd from when it originally came out.
"JASON ZEH - HERACLITUS (CD by C.I.P.)
In the very first few minutes of Jason Zeh's debut CD (following several CDR releases including one on Gameboy Records) we hear a 'tabletop cassette recorder over a candle flame while recording'. This is the very basic thing that is used to create the rest of the composition - all melted into one piece, from start to finish. The processing stages this went through all deals with cassettes, in which literally everything from the cassette, the shells, guide rollers and pressure pads is used to alter the sound. All of these stages were recorded and from all these recordings the final composition was created. A dense work, which at times had some similarities to the work of Howard Stezler (especially his most recent work 'Bond Inlets') or Brutum Fullmen, of corroded sounds, rotten sounds and decay in general. Divided into several parts, with quite some dynamics (although things never get really loud), this is simply one of the most engaging things I heard recently. While on one hand connected to the world of microsound, mainly through the final composition, the techniques are more or less ancient, yet even by any old standard, this all sounds mysterious and not muffled, or hidden in a bath of hiss, like many of his ancestors did sound on tape. It owes in the technique department more to the old masters of musique concrete, yet with an entirely different outcome. As Heraclitus said you can never step into the same river twice (panta rhei), you can loop a tape, but it never sounds the same. Highlight, for me, of this week. (FdW)
Address: http://www.cipsite.net"
Also, on an unrelated note, here is a sound sample Frans recently posted. It is a clip of Brombron 16 that Ben Gwilliam and I recorded in Nijmegen Netherlands last October. The CD should be out now on Frans DeWaard's Korm Plastics.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Nostalgia
Nostalgia is such a bizarre emotion.
It feels like an odd ache: an insatiable longing for something that you can't exactly place and that you can never be certain is real.
I remember the first time I became consciously aware of my tendency toward nostalgia. I was around 23. I was driving in a car, probably coming home from a show. I began to feel that I was becoming older and I feared that I was losing my grip on something.
Perhaps nostalgia is a kind of fear.
On one hand, that ache associated with nostalgia is rather painful and provokes a profound sense of terror. On the other, the fact that it has persisted, in very much the same form, for so many years, suggests to me that whatever it is that I fear losing my grasp on is not anything real. If it was real, I would think that the pain would go away as I fully lost whatever it is that I am trying to hold on to, or it would get more and more unbearable as the loss became more and more irreversible.
For now, I will just enjoy those moments like the perverse pleasure that can be gained from becoming absorbed by unrequited love.
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