Tuesday, December 1, 2009

István Mártha - The Wind Rises [Hangnapló] (ReR, 1987)

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An album that I found for a couple reasons: both on the Adore the Freak list, and the atonelectric peripherals list Doc threw together, as well as general acclaim (despite the criminally low rating count). Birthed by strong musicians in play, the affair was pushed into a higher level by the decision to play/record outside. There are several ways to try to get out of your "habit energy" (a goal a lot of mid-20th century composers longed to achieve): play an instrument you're not familiar with, play with other musicians that you don't know, work in new genres, and aside from those, others get less at the musician-instrument or composition aspects of making music, and more at the mindset of the musicians. This is one of them. By simply going outside, the moods of the musicians seem to have changed, the nature of the recording took on the warmth of field recordings (actually, it sort of is a field recording, blurring the lines of what that actually means). For everyone trying to hide in the forest and still put out tapes, take note: knowing your jazz can mean all the difference.

Posted by pabanks at 5:40 PM
Tags: , ,

3 comments:

jazzme,  December 2, 2009 4:09 AM  

I like the tags you have added at the side of each post good idea

pabanks,  December 3, 2009 7:53 PM  

Nice. I figured that it is pointless for a blog to repeat all the back story. If you like the record, you can go buy it, get a detailed description, etc. :)

Anonymous,  January 22, 2010 12:29 AM  

Keep posting stuff like this i really like it

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MILES DAVIS


By 1973, Miles had gone crazy. I often ask myself, in reference to an athlete lost to excess, or an artist that has burned too brightly, does the caring person in me have the ability to bring myself, should I somehow be granted such powers, to erase great works of art by curing the illness that brought them to be? Here, the case is simple: would I be humane enough to let Miles free of his demons, knowing that doing so would erase all the art he made in the midst of his madness?

If I were alive and asked this in 1975, I would certainly say yes. The music in question was largely, perhaps near-unanimously, reviled by critics. Miles, his health shattered, had just retired for what was to be five years. Dave Liebman was solid, but was also one of very few longstanding sax players to pair with Miles without subsequently gaining worldwide fame (I'm still waiting on a Gary Bartz revival - I'll lead the way). Miles had unleashed masterpieces like On the Corner, Get Up With It, and garnered neither the younger black audience he wanted, nor the sales of his prior albums (namely, Bitches Brew).

However, time has a way of changing things. Miles' work from this period has seen a decade-long critical resuscitation, the dry clicks and repetition of On the Corner a false ancestor of dubstep, the pulsing ambiance of "He Loved Him Madly" was ahead of Eno, ahead of dark jazz, and ahead of about ten other genres. Miles was more mournful in his playing, the searcher was more lost than ever, and his body matched his tone: brittle, thin, static then frenetic (could be the coke there). Given all this, I don't know if I could let Miles go if that meant this art would go away. Whatever was chasing miles over a quarter-century ago, it lead him into areas so far ahead of his time, it is staggering.

EXCEPTIONAL NEW RELEASE

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Your Snakelilke King, by the duo of Dylan Nyoukis and Karen Constance under the name Blood Stereo, was a steady climber throughout the year for me. The first thing that caught me, as is often the case, is the stunning cover art, which, luckily for them and for me, came to my attention when I was deeply into dance a while earlier in the year. I also had wanted to check something out by Dylan Nyoukis, as I'd heard his name bandied about by some other writers that I trust, but was kind of put off by the album with the cover of him naked.

Enter Your Snakelilke King. The second track, "The Taking of the Tonic," is what originally caught my ear, as it started off with the sort of high pitched, spare vocal spikes that would be common on a Keiji Haino record. After that portion, there are layered vocals, scratching textures, and a sort of propelled development through the rest of the track that simultaneously has a circular motion to it, a sort of swirling vortex in the speaker array. In a way, the vocals mimic something from Burning Star Core's more saliva-based excursions, which is a good thing.

After I was thoroughly taken by the second track, I gave the opener, "The Giving of the Grape," a more attentive listen. The track starts very similar to Tony Conrads Joan of Arc, so much so that at first I wondered if the track was realized by recording the pedals and keys of an instrument. This descends into the chaos of the remainder of the track, replete with violin scratches, frenzies and abutted by synthetic tones, closely recorded bubbling and crackling. The 20-minute journey can't be summed up completely here, but the message I hope you get is that this record is effective in track development, all the while being texturally complex and dynamic. In short, Your Snakelilke King, sold out in the 330 copy vinyl edition, but still available in other formats on Pan, serves as a perfect entry point to Nyoukis and Constance, and is a fantastic "noise" record, period.

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