There’s a sense of drama here that is driven by some bravura editing and a reckless attitude that stands that deeply boring Gallic perfectionism on its head: all of this makes it a superb listen. It’s also infused with a dramatic and overblown melancholy not seen since the French Gothic. Highly recommended for noise and atonal freaks everywhere.
There’s a sense of drama here that is driven by some bravura editing and a reckless attitude that stands that deeply boring Gallic perfectionism on its head: all of this makes it a superb listen. It’s also infused with a dramatic and overblown melancholy not seen since the French Gothic. Highly recommended for noise and atonal freaks everywhere.
(No=Fi)
http://soundcloud.com/nofirecordings
I’m not sure if this is musique concrète, I’m not versed in identifying such things but whatever it is, it’s a damned fine mash of noises, voices and rhythms. Two sides of magnetic tape, each lasting 15 minutes, but that is enough. Side A sounds like a broadcast from a long forgotten polar research station; the beat is, to all intents and purposes, a heartbeat. Like a compressed radioactive signal desperately searching some mate in the airwaves, the melancholy voice drones on: children’s memories – deeply locked away – identify this sound with 1970s radio signals from the Communist Bloc. A sudden stop and we’re in a large refectory, replete with someone who is very drunk indeed: it’s the cod dictator from Deutsch Nepal come back after 40 years to bore us. His voice is back-dropped by a sound that could be that of a melting accordion: it radiates lushly against the walls before becoming a puddle on the ground. A further change; a bland but pleasant Southern English voice mentions the London Underground and Sports Direct (oh a fiver to see Mike Ashley hear this tape) before we disappear into a world of tiny stabs of keyboard and fractured vocals. Then we’re in a swimming pool and a weeping man, the sound of rain and what could be an ice cream van. It’s very disconcerting. The last 3 minutes of Side A see structure of some kind in this Surrealist landscape. We have a return to our broadcast – albeit in more strident and defined form.
At this point you could be forgiven if you went to make yourself a cup of tea.
Side B sounds like someone’s finally got through to Q quarters. This is a howl from deep in a command structure – Informed by icy electronics, underwater synth beats and a lot of groaning and clanging – we’re aware only that something’s gone terribly wrong. Things change about the 3 minute mark to something much warmer but no less demented – a mother and child converse about something or other before the listener is bourn off deep into outer space – we’re in Toulouse Low Trax territory now, a spidery beat taps out a pattern and a voice mumbles an incantation over an increasingly frenzied backdrop. Another volte face and we’re in some form of shopping mall albeit one where the walls are melting and the meat sighs from beneath the counter. A beat like footsteps builds up and we’re in some dreamlike chase through the aisles – I’m sure you can hear someone shout “wait for me”. It’s incredibly spooky. Suddenly we’re outside, finding ourselves in some sort of electric flamingo colony, one replete with a string quartet. After all the drama that’s gone before it’s a very enjoyable bucolic ending.
There’s a sense of drama here that is driven by some bravura editing and a reckless attitude that stands that deeply boring Gallic perfectionism on its head: all of this makes it a superb listen. It’s also infused with a dramatic and overblown melancholy not seen since the French Gothic. Highly recommended for noise and atonal freaks everywhere.