8.26.21 by Matty McPherson
Mr. Reyes, I hope you are doing well at the moment. I know you can be quite busy, running American Dreams and (American) Decline labels in between whatever is on your plate. I just thought you should know that I recently took in your latest tape, “What is a Ghost? Is it Really Me?”, in between days of grilling and reflecting on John Hassell. The title struck me as a beautiful question in light of all things happening. It left me in a most inquisitive modus operandus.
I’d seen in the past that you’ve expressed quite the interest in modular synthesizers, but that for this Unifactor batch, you opted for “synth drones with dead-eyed woodwinds or the occasional wall of layered guitar clusters.” It took me a week to work towards the proper headspace with these zones, although once they worked their magic, I found myself sympathizing with these tones.
When times were lighter, I used to walk on the beach; a welcome reprieve from my own anxiety. There was a moment at the start of the pandemic that I walked into a sheer wind blast. Your scorched synth tones on the opener brought me back there, real time navigating where I was going. There’s even a bit of a conspiratorial sense to the instrumentation. The shadows the woodwinds impart on “What Spectre Reflects in Glass?” seemed to tower over me, murmuring their dismay. There’s peace to be found though through those tumults.
The back half is a patient, brighter stride. The open-eyed bass rumble and synthetic pulses of the title track; the flickery jitters of The Void is Boundless, Boundless is the Void that circle around the same sugar-coated acidity of Suicide ‘77. Yes, I can see them serving as ways to reacquaint oneself in a space — foreign or familiar — and work from there.
I do appreciate best though, how you are able to bust out those aforementioned guitar clusters. On “Foregone Breaths a Presence Makes,” the guitar rolls through like a warm breeze, stretching where the synth drones grimace. When the instrument returns on “Lead Me To The Cliff – Away We Laugh,” there’s a newfound serenity that I find myself lulled to. A cosmic lullaby for those starless nights. I guess I’m trying to say, the tape made me feel a little less alone, and I thank you for sharing these zones of solace.
Limited Edition Cassette Available from the ever reliable Unifactor Tapes
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8.25.21 by Matty McPherson
8.25.21 by Matty McPherson
A lot of what could be contributed to the success of Trouble in Mind could be best surmised by the fact that every band on the label there seems to like the Raincoats’ Odyshape. However, only Brian Case (to my knowledge) can lay claim to having once shared a roster with guitar powerhouse Roy Montgomery. Now, was Roy Montgomery or Odyshape being summoned when Case threw down a “Practice Tape” on Trouble in Mind’s rather neato Exploration Series? Well, when I opened my tape cover I didn’t expect to find Cybil Shepherd staring back at me — could I consider this a sort of reference to Ciccone Youth’s The Whitey Album? Well there’s no Madonna karaoke number to be found here…
So then, where does Practice Tape fit in the Brian Case Sonic Universe in 2021? Carefully, one would surmise. Case’s guitar prowess on this year’s FACS album hit a sublime plane with Noah Legert and Alianna Kalaba’s grooves. Yet, this tape is all about electronics and obsession. The former surplants typical guitar reverb I’ve found in Case’s work before, imparting the sounds of dust, echoes, and machines from the Labradfordian dimension.
Each side is split into 16:29 chunks that feel infinite. They meticulously lurk, crash, and tumble; listening to the tape had that feeling of being on hold with a call coming a dimension over. Perhaps a bit of that could be attributed to Cybil Shepherd, an inspiration to Case and these instrumentals’ own abstracted dirges into “fame and notoriety.” What I know after an hour is that to listen to this tape with your eyes shut ain’t gonna answer any questions there. Start strolling around… head down, blinders on… and stray figments of those themes start to string through with every neon marquee that matches those syncopations. You’ll thank me later.
Limited cassette version, with photocopied J-card, and white cassette shell with black imprint; available from the Trouble in Mind Explorers Series
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