Tabs Out | Sun Picture – So Many Little Rooms

Sun Picture – So Many Little Rooms

12.10.21 by Matty McPherson

The Red Hill, CA based Katuktu Collective tape label has been an upstanding “aural refuge” for the past half decade or so. Aaris King has been handling efforts, with an emphasis on charitable partnerships, while networking with underground artists. It makes their releases a unique grab bag experience, with a keen, open ear to global curation of all shapes and sizes. One month you might be finding yourself with Senyawa’s Alkisah; half a year later, you might just be entering a portal into Sun Picture’s So Many Little Rooms.

Carlos Lowenstein’s Chicago-based solo project, Sun Picture, is an aural meditation on personal memories–specifically pertaining to Lowenstein’s early years of life in Venezuela. So Many Little Rooms is not lyrically focused, utilizing titles like “Roosters in Caracas mornings 1992,” “Tension at the park 1990,” or “Sometimes the monkey escaped” to more or less reveal inklings of this past where its synths may not. And yes, across this C34, Lowenstein does ground most of his sound in synths, creating low hums and wistful melodies.  Still, there’s a lot of guitar jamming and motorik impulses imbued in these nine tracks; they carry a detached sense of krautrock aesthetics. Listening to the tape in real time, one might note how the drums (sometimes live, sometimes machine) and guitars slowly terraform, shifting their tunings and patterns, respectively. Memory changes, after all. Although Lowenstein is careful not to turn it into an outright jam, honing in on three to four minute vignettes. These songs could stretch, let’s not get that wrong, but that decision to let them operate in this manner rewards the wide palette Lowenstein brings out.

Naturally, it carries these memories through a vivid sonic timeline, allowing for repeated listens to reward different tracks and different attributes. Right now, I’ve been gripped specifically by Side A closer “We liked the harsh sun” — a kind of spiritual dub that invokes O.Rang. There’s a sense that it might just explode every time Lowenstein clashes at that detuned string instrument. Meanwhile, Side B opener “Saltwater throat feeling” glistens and dashes in four dimensions, recalling all those hours spent reading Forerunner terminals as much as a genuine flavor profile of salt water. There are truly so many little rooms Lowenstein can invoke.

Hand-numbered 4-panel J-card, hand-stamped shells, edition of 50 available from Katuktu Collective and Sun Picture’s own personal Bandcamp.

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Tabs Out | Nina Guo – Blauch Räusch

Nina Guo – Blauch Räusch

12.6.21 by Matty McPherson

As soon as I plopped the half-listened side B of Blauch Rausch into the player, I felt that sublime feeling–the one that teeters the line between “this really the pinnacle of what ferric tape has to offer” and “wow this is insanely rudimentary vocal argle bargle.” It’s a magical feeling because if the chips stay on the table and the bet pays off, then I likely have myself a tape I’ll be gloating over. It is with a light heart that I can confirm Nina Guo is leaps and bounds a genuine talent. The Berlin based Guo’s debut, Blauch Räusch, on the burgeoning Unknown Tapes imprint is one of the more colloquial and startling tapes I’ve heard across 2021. The sound of someone letting loose and going hog wild in the good way. It left me with a litany of questions and unspeakable, uncategorized quips that I suppose I’ll be left scraping for an answer to with no avail.

One question I know I want to ask is just how much funding do libraries have for onomatopoeia story hour? And if they do have funding, then why isn’t Nina Guo being tapped for a world tour of library reading rooms for her semantics and antics? Blauch Räusch is a heavy piece of vocal games that would absolutely floor a group of kids as much as it might give their parents who use a library to check out classic orchestra CDs a run for their money. 

Most of the pieces are really not that long here and they recall David Moscovich’s Dada Centennials for Tymbal Tapes or Ka Baird’s own Vocal Games; both utilized a lack of formal cohesion to answer and pose quandaries that stock instrumentation just could not provide. Guo follows suit, with a (literal) page ripping level of dada to these compositions. After being ushered and shushed into the “listening commons”, the laugh riot “25” throws us for a loop. Meanwhile, a piece like “Bud Burst” sees Guo turning her voice into a bonafide modular synth–a mini orchestra that sputters and spits until it arrives at a terminal impasse; it’s only a minute but good god is that an exciting minute. “detest” builds up a crescendo style flow that is clearly arching for that opening spot at a 75 Dollar Bill show. After the laugh riot of 25 comes the stoner babbling in tongues/burst spray frenzy of “26!” It came as a surprise, especially after being told 24 is the highest number.

Side B is ruled by one of the year’s best singles/longforms/grant applications for library programming, “aristocats”. And yes, this is a full-blown re-enactment/synopsis/borderline-zonked out performance of the 1972 Disney film, the Aristocats. Complete with a full rogue’s gallery of voices, plenty of mumbles and tumbles, and some fantastically laugh off loud quips about the film’s not-so-subtle racism, the sheer majesty of this execution had me salivating. I could only imagine how Guo would throw her arms around or run up and down…like I say this is a wildly imaginative kind of tape. Hell, it even ends with three minutes of screaming like a door creaking and creaking like a door screaming that gives any Hallmark Halloween tape a run for its money.

First run of 50 copies only available at the Unknown Tapes Bandcamp!

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