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Genetics and Windsurfing – Recording Session of Waveform Poems

9.25.20 by Tony Lien

Genetics and Windsurfing – moniker of Polish experimental musician Daniel Jasniewski – is often one of the projects I tend to reference when I converse with people who have yet to delve into the geological layers of Orange Milk’s continuously diverse and forward-thinking catalogue. As it goes with any of their releases, verbal and/or written descriptions can never skim the surface when it comes to relating the listening experience to another person. Jasniewski’s music is THE prime example in a sea of prime examples. 

In his latest work, “Recording Session of Waveform Poems”, Jasniewski continues on with his idiosyncratic vision of experimental electronic exploration. Stuttering, shimmering blocks of digital noise pan back and forth in your headphones in a jagged, kaleidoscopic fashion. You’d think this would imply that the mangled computer sounds conjure that specific sort of synthetic Internet sound you’ve come to expect from OM – which, it does – but Jansniewski effortlessly reaches beyond this trope in a way that makes me believe Richard Brautigan’s hybrid techno-future forest dream where nature and computers exist in harmony together is actually possible and not just some rad freak-beat poem. 

The bombardment of sound is near constant – only occasionally broken up by brief intrusions of field recordings or silence – but it is by no means overwhelming. Jasniewski, I think, is trying his best to keep us interested. In this, there is a great wisdom in his music; he is well aware of the fickleness of our collective attention spans, and the ever-evolving flow of glitches is his response to the problem (yes, this can really be a problem for artists of all mediums). It’s almost as if he’s attempting to create a hybrid language that circumnavigates the mess of our mangled psyches; if you listen hard and long enough, you’ll swear that you’re beginning to understand what he’s trying to say. 

As of writing this, there are still plenty of copies available on the OM site. I’d say catch a wave while the wind is still blowing and pick up a tape before they fade into legend like all of the others. 

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Jeff Brown – Forgive The Trespass

9.23.20 by Tony Lien

Jeff Brown – not only one of Seattle’s ambient heroes, but also a thoughtful music journalist – is back with a free-floating electric 12-string excursion that certainly shimmers and expands with the best of the genre. 

As it often goes with longform ambient pieces, I’m reticent to fully surrender myself to whatever state the given artist hopes to put me in. I typically require a bit of coaxing, being that ambient music requires a sort of passive yet deep attention investment. Thankfully, Brown is a convincing fellow when he has a guitar in his hands and some pedals at his feet. 

“Forgive The Trespass” (out now on UK label Rusted Tone Recordings) is almost conversational – its wordless narrative slowly unfolding like that of a tree ent’s account of a past tragedy. In this sense, Brown’s story – told with gentle, reverb-drenched swells – seems to denote an extended moment of self-acceptance and forgiveness. A meditation within a secular space of spirituality.  

Even more so, I feel that he intends for this space to be open to the public. A place for anyone weary of heart or mind to step into and whisper their private mantras. 

As of writing this, there are five copies remaining on the Rusted Tone Bandcamp. I advise purchasing a tape and letting Jeff know that you are by no means offended by his trespassing.

Kil Gore Trout – Sound Experiments For Reel To Reel Tape

6.29.20 by Tony Lien

Though I was already intrigued by the homage to Kurt Vonnegut’s fictional alter ego, I was sold by the fact that “Sound Experiments For Reel to Reel Tape” by Kil Gore Trout was recently released on tape via Fargo, ND noise label Black Ring Rituals — possibly the brightest beacon in the Midwest for fringe artists who dabble in noise-based sub-genres such as power electronics, industrial, harsh noise wall, or dark ambient. 

Don’t just sit there and brush over those genre tags. Click on that link and (after experiencing Trout’s album, of course) explore the rest of the BRR catalogue. You’ll surely see — as I did when I first stumbled upon the label — that owner/operator Brandon Wald cares deeply for fostering an incredibly diverse array of creative projects. While some are saturated with revolutionary/socio-political undertones (see any of Wald’s own music released under the moniker Support Unit or the self-titled split tape courtesy of Aids Victim/Straight Panic), others exist in more abstract dimensions void of identifiable cultural rhetoric. 

“Sound Experimentations For Reel To Reel Tape” is of the latter category. 

If noise music could feasibly possess classical qualities, this tape certainly does. The cacophony of buzzes, shrieks, and frequency-bending sine waves is symphonic in terms of compositional scope. With a virtuoso’s touch — articulation and intent present with every twist of a knob — Trout is able to wed freeform noise experimentation with the same sort of amorphous (yet distinctive) vision coined by contemporary classical heavyweights such as Steve Reich or Fred Frith (except Trout, of course, uses electronics rather than guitars or xylophones). 

I’m not sure whether or not Trout (or any other noise artist for that matter) would punch me in the head for attempting to categorize their noise music in such a way. Regardless, it must be acknowledged. Noise music is always evolving, and Trout is one of the fish determined to crawl out of the water. 

There are still copies available on the Black Ring Rituals site — but keep in mind that there are only 25 copies that exist in total. This is far too few, in my opinion.

Reflex Condition – Unknown Restraints

0.0.20 by Tony Lien

As far as UK labels go, it’s hard to talk about the experimental cassette scene without mentioning Third Kind Records. Going on seven years since its founding in 2013, owner/operator Nicholas Langley has continuously been able to curate a catalog that satisfies just about any taste – with releases ranging from thoughtful lo-fi folk music to avant-classical synthesizer work. 

Something I’ve always personally enjoyed and respected about Langley’s curation is his devotion to certain artists and a willingness to work with them time and time again as the years go on – like Nikmis, or (the artist in question today) Reflex Condition. 

“Unknown Restraints” is Reflex Condition’s third release on Third Kind (see 2014’s “Dashboard” and 2016’s “Witch Flower”). Though it’s surely a logical extension (style-wise) of these previous releases, there is an amplified essence of passion and (sounds cheesy but) adventure in these tracks. Honestly, as the moody, aggressive synth leads somehow become personified and rip through the speakers and bounce off of the driving, underlying beats like deep-space acrobats, I can’t help but feel that Neil deGrasse Tyson is going to come cruising in on his Cosmos ship and whisk me off to Titan or Europa or some nameless nebula far beyond the reaches of the known universe. 

Besides the energetic instrumentation, the most idiosyncratic aspect of “Unknown Restraints” is the occasional inclusion of vocal passages. In the second track, an ethereal, synthetic voice – which almost seems like that of an artificially intelligent entity soon after achieving singularity – beckons us: “Come with me, it’s not so bad…” Though you can speculate as to what is meant by this, I prefer to see it as an invitation to truly immerse yourself in the remainder of the album. The voice is right, if that’s the case: it’s not so bad. In fact, it’s breathtaking (a little more necessary cheesiness for you). 

There are still copies available on the Third Kind Bandcamp. Do your small part for the perpetuation of the human race and buy a tape. We’ll never get to space without embracing the spirit of interstellar adventure that defines Reflex Condition’s killer electronic compositions.

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Butoh Sonics – Annihilate this Memory

5.22.20 by Tony Lien

Check out this bio description from Bandcamp regarding music collective Butoh Sonics: 

“Phantasmagoria of sound sculpture, electronics, guitar debris & dance theater. Post-futurist clangor, dada/ambient improvisions and enchromatic jazz. Throw off the yoke of anxiety and oppression, embrace sonic sensorial immersion! Join with the eternal Void as primal waveform.” 

Am I even needed here? Do you even need to listen to the tape now? 

Really though – despite that killer Bandcamp byline – Butoh Sonics truly is a hard group to describe. Not only do they veil themselves with stage names, but their sizable creative output is not unlike an ever-growing abstract expressionist canvas; their spatters and patterns cannot be predicted – nor easily categorized as one particular genre. Noise? Plunderphonics? Freak jazz? All I can say is that it’s fruitless to try and do the typical music person thing and neatly file them away in your internal music compartment; the music will wriggle and ooze its way out of the drawer and crawl off to do its own thing or end up stuck to the bottom of our shoe. 

“Annihilate this Memory” – available from Buffalo, NY label Zazen Tapes – is a foreboding improvisational noise album comprised of experimental guitar work, extensive/cryptic samples, and various other instruments/machines that are hard to put a finger on (just the way I like it). The sounds constantly morph and twist around each other – sometimes knotting up, other times floating freely in a paradoxically vast and claustrophobic space. In the tape’s finest moments (really, the entire album is a choice bizarro audio extravaganza), it reminds me of wandering through a dilapidated fun house maintained by pissed off art school students. 

It goes without saying that “Annihilate this Memory” is hardly forgettable. Add to that the fact that Zazen tapes doesn’t charge much (in relation to a great many labels out there) for their physical ephemera, and it would be a pretty nonsensical move for you to not trade them a few bucks for a genuine work of art that might as well be the official 30 minute anthem of one of the strangest years of our lives.

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