twenty-eight inches, twice: joe murray on roger stella, lea bertucci, krube, kostis kilymisMarch 7, 2016 at 1:03 pm | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a comment
Tags: i dischi del barone, joe murray, kostis kilymis, krube, lea bertucci, roger stella
Roger Stella – The Final Programme (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB005, edition of 200)
Lea Bertucci – Light Silence, Dark Speech (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB003, edition of 200)
Krube – Untitled (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB006, edition of 200)
Kostis Kilymis – Crystal Drops/Ground Loops (7″ vinyl, I Dischi Del Barone, IDDB004, edition of 200)
Roger Stella – The Final Programme
Extremely fucked-up noise jam. Imagine a waterfall of malfunctioning electronics falling several miles down an icy crevasse. The sharp static crackles and low-frequency rumble are shot through with an almost space-rock noodling on a modular synth (or something else distinctly bubbling).
There are some leering rhythms; all slack jawed with glistening chops hinting darkly behind the hubbub on sides A and B. I’m tickled greatly by the Satanic goat that adorns this handsome single and picture him with his shiny hooves up at the mixing desk, kicking the pots and huffing on his diesel pipe. A noise Lee Perry?
One thing’s for sure: Roger will make the perfect support act when Wolf Eyes eventually gobble up Hawkwind and take that shit on the road.
Lea Bertucci – Light Silence, Dark Speech
The hail has turned to gentle snow as I play each side of this wonderful disc again and again.
An Unbroken Plan: Beautifully thin and delicate saxophone lines breathe misty like frozen elk and roll glossy around your ears. Then these coppery whispers are gradually woven together to form a brittle Terry Riley-like sculpture. It’s light as air but with an irresistible sour edge; the sonic equivalent of bad milk. And I can’t help myself but have one more sniff.
Faces in the Shadows: Horn solo in Asgard! Without no skronk or over-blown gimmicks Lea teases a feathery tongue out the warm brassy bowl that flutters like the heart of a finch. The balance to this lightness is a full-fat tone, rich as figs, that curls at the edges of memory and silent longing. I feel the moisture on my cheeks and bark abruptly,
I must have got something in my eye!
The snow continues to fall, each flake a damaged star.
Krube – Untitled
Dark home recordings of floorboards, rocking chairs and gently burning hair are passed though a magnetic sieve. This particular processing has the power to repel all ‘regular’ sound until only the slag and grit are left. On this side the sonic property of the ‘creak’ is explored in extraordinary detail, equivalent to a fully illustrated 300 page memo.
Flipping this disc my lugs are massaged by salty drizzle and the swish of heavy traffic. Like the wake of a trawler, a churn seems to follow the leading edge of crackle and hiss. This sound-tail (apply the dirty snowball of a comet analogy if you prefer) becomes the focus in a canny reverse listening exercise. The resulting granite spluttering makes me check out the stereo… I swear the rotating vinyl is buckling!
Kostis Kilymis – Crystal Drops/Ground Loops
A seriously rubbery proposal!
‘Crystal Drops’ bounces steel ball bearings off a taut ram-skin. Each projectile is traced with phosphorus trails and describe erratic arcs across the sky. Electricity, the most unnatural of energies, keeps things aloft until all is shagged out and spent and each silver sphere drops and lies gently fizzing in the fragrant lavender.
When things cool down I turn this baby over and slurp up ‘Ground Loops (a line, obscured)’. My skull becomes a ringing bell as I realise I’m listening to this at the wrong speed – it’s a stately 33 rpm not the youthfully speedy 45 I’d assumed. My notes readjusted I can report the languid electro opener is trailer for a more domestic earful. The field recorder’s greatest enemy – a dumb wind – plays blurry bass notes as London folk dodge jumbo jets, helicopters and old, clickerty bikes rendered in the most delicate of detail. A game of street cricket is interrupted and a lovely remonstration,
stands out as the most engaging earworm.
A lazy reviewer might couch this snapshot as a Hogarthian print. But I think that would be missing the point. The warmth of the recording and the freshness of the edits put Kostis right in the heart of the action. This is no voyeur-eye view or parachuting tourist, this is a poem to the everyday tig-taggle of life’s connections. It’s the huss of a city lived.