Search:behind the trees

Hunt & Gather’s debut vinyl release comes by way of Pezzner’s cryptic moniker “The Native Language”. Written as a quasi-homeless man living off the rich in the San Juan Islands who writes music once per year to suffice his own delusions.

Walking the streets in these damp, anxious days that all run together lately, I was approached by a man who would blend right into the neighborhood, layered in flannel and sweatshirts for sleeping.

Rough, but for his shoes. (Never cheap out on anything that separates you from the ground.) “Pezzner,” he called out, from a safe distance. “What did the mangrove say to the marauding hordes.” My soul left my body for a moment and my voice responded on its own. “Petrichor.”

He caught my eye, nodded, left a padded envelope on the ground and vanished. The envelope had passed through many hands, slipped into the bed of a ferry-bound truck, passed from one fellow traveler to another, stashed under the counters of anarchist bookstores, left tucked between books at Little Free Libraries. The greenish stains suggested that at one point it had been swum across a lake. Another DAT, contents encoded here unabridged, and a letter from someone who called himself The Sentinel.

The Vessel lived out his days on Shaw Island, under a canopy of trees that gets smaller and smaller every season. His condition the same, any electricity lit his brain on fire, could only bring himself to compose one day a year, only at night, out of sight. Until he met The Angel, an eccentric with means, who built for him a device.

A Faraday Cage to block all electromagnetic emissions. Burlap walls, for atmosphere. A system of pulleys and levers, wood and rope, all running into a box that sat outside. An entirely mechanical control surface. No electrons in here. The Vessel lit fires, watched the shadows dance, closed his eyes and disappeared into the motion for hours at a time. The Sentinel came every morning to change the tapes. The Angel watched and pondered, his plans unknown.

The box sat sealed, bare except for another set of ideograms, scratched in day by day over time. Inside, the usual bedroom-producer shit. Outside, the ideograms told a story, passed from the Vessel to the Sentinel and drawn by the Angel, of a man who became another creature. Alert to the lowest frequencies, feeling music deep in the soil below their feet. Music that brings messages, from distant friends, warning of new creatures and the danger they brought. Skin alive to the world, so sensitive it can detect the landing of a single fly. A mind capable of keeping a map of the world inside. A mind that can look in a mirror and see a soul it knows well. A mind that can grieve.

After processing its contents, I filled the envelope with granola bars and walked it down to the market. The clerk gave me a knowing look as I placed it on the counter behind a stack of pork rinds from the previous century. As I walked out, a young man carrying a plastic bag and wearing impeccable shoes walked in.

A contemporary dance score for award winning British choreographer Wayne McGregor inspired by Sergei Pavlovich Diaghilev (1872-1929). 'My composer for Dyad, Icelandic musician ?lafur Arnalds, is coming in next week to finish work on the score. It's an amazing piece of music ? it's melancholic and spatial then cuts to extreme rhythmic violence - it's hauntingly inspiring' ? Wayne McGregor (Random Dance) 2009 has already proved quite a year for Iceland's neo-classical export ?lafur Arnalds. Still high on the success of his 7-song series 'Found Songs' ? recording a song a day for 7 days and instantly making each track available via Twitter; ?lafur was approached by the world renowned and critically acclaimed choreographer Wayne McGregor to create a 30-minute score for his ambitious new work 'Dyad 1909'. The dance piece, inspired and created 'In The Spirit of Diaghilev' premiered at the Sadler's Wells theatre this October and became an unpredictable and much talked about 5-nights of live music, dance and visuals. This 'fascinating collaboration' (Guardian) will go on a EU-wide tour this autumn with Arnalds included in an impressive creative line-up alongside visual artists and filmmakers Jane and Louise Wilson. In December ?lafur's 'evocative and lyrical score' (The Times) will see a 10" vinyl, CD and digital release via Erased Tapes ? the label behind his previous releases as well as Peter Broderick's recent and much noted dance score release 'Music For Falling From Trees'. Born in 1987, ?lafur hails from the suburban Icelandic town, Mosfellsb?r, just a few kilometres outside of Reykjav?k. He has immersed himself completely in a world of delicate symphonic compositions generating near weightless orchestral pieces. Arnalds explores the crossover from classical to pop by mixing chamber strings and piano with discreet electronics which makes him a perfect fit for cinematic pop label Erased Tapes. His motivations are clear: "The classical scene is kind of closed to people who haven't been studying music all their lives. I would like to bring my classical influence to the people who don't usually listen to this kind of music?open people's minds." This young artist is steadily gaining recognition worldwide since his 2007 debut 'Eulogy for Evolution' and the 2008 follow-up EP 'Variations of Static'. In April 2009 online experiment 'Found Songs' received more than 200,000 downloads via foundsongs.erasedtapes and the physical edition released this August has instantly become a best seller, demonstrating that music in its physical format still attains a particular charm. ?lafur conceived 'Found Songs' as a way to collate several lost and found musical sketches and ideas in a 'very challenging, but fun' series. The experiment offers its listeners an intimate insight into ?lafur Arnalds' creative world with artwork contributions from fans via Flickr. With the next full-length release due in 2010, 'Found Songs' hasn't just inspired 2-D work. Esteban Di?cono ? a young motion graphic artist from Buenos Aires, Argentina ? created an astonishing animation video for 'Lj?si?', which found its way into the heart of UK illusionist Darren Brown among over 400,000 others within 4 weeks via Vimeo and YouTube. The music video is now available for download via iTunes. ?lafur is currently in the studio with Bardi Johannsson (Bang Gang) who will be co-producing his upcoming and highly anticipated second full-length album.

"I am sitting in a garden, I haven't left the property in weeks, someone is dropping off food once a week. I haven't seen a human being in ages, I feel like a reverse Schroedinger cat - do I exist when nobody sees me? I must be somewhere in France but I don't remember. I have lost my consciousness again. When I wake up I hear a broken record looping somewhere in the mansion. A washed-out opera. Behind the trees I see the dilapidated hermaphrodite sculpture in a field of verdant nettles and fern. I hear gunshots far afield, aeroplanes in the sky, sirens on the main road.
When unconscious I dreamt of sitting on the Concorde observing the scarab blue ocean and iridescent clouds from above, an erstwhile receding memory. Sometimes I hear the organ of the nearby Renaissance Cathedral merging with the Russian Church bells.
I am hallucinating again. Someone's humming in the kitchen? Singing? A Radio? I overhear two young women talking about art galleries in the neighbour's garden. Bees attack, again…..again and again. The hairspray finally intoxicates them. An amphoric japanese voice is whispering in my head saying I will die soon. Someone (something?) bangs on the vases. The fountain's water turns dark red.
Fleur calls and says mum died. The funeral will be televised on tuesday. We opt for the synthetic choir for the service. The call is suddenly interrupted. Mold is slowly taking over the house.
I go back inside."

Une Fille Pétrifiée is the debut album of new Black To Comm related entity Mouchoir Ètanche (after one recent 12" on Richter's own Dekorder label). Combining real and fake acoustic instrumentation, sampling, field recordings and excessive yet inaudible post production this is another sublime and ethereal statement. Influences are ranging from (French) Classical & Opera to the anecdotical compositions of Luc Ferrari, Chinese Opera, Chanson, Sacred Music / Church Music, JG Ballard and Surrealism.

Marc Richter records as Black To Comm for Thrill Jockey, Type and Dekorder and as Jemh Circs for his own Cellule 75 imprint. He also produces soundtracks and acousmatic multichannel installations for institutions such as INA GRM Paris, ZKM Karlsruhe and Kunstverein Hamburg.

Hihats In Trees is the solo project of drummer Lander Gyselinck, 3 times in a row best musician for the Belgian Music Industry Awards.

Emerging out of the jazz/experimental music scene and beat-oriented music as well, Lander Gyselinck is the thriving force behind bands such as BeraadGeslagen, STUFF., LABtrio and more. He became widely known as one of the most exciting European drummers of the last few years.

Hihats In Trees is Lander his first solo record.
It's an anthology of beat compositions that is highly electronic in design yet consist of not one synthetic sound. Driven by the authenticity of the 'natural' human-driven sound from tangible objects such as wood, rubber, plastic... these 'real' textures serve as the molecular basis of these peculiar dance tracks.

It's his synthesis of the very physical and acoustic world of improvised music timbres colliding into the realm of electronic dance music and it's 40 years of sequencer-influenced beat vocabulary.

HHIT is a drum computer most poetic burnout.

Hendrik Weber aka Pantha Du Prince (‘a fantasy character...a poetic transporter for the concept behind the music’) has carved a niche for a style of techno he calls, ‘layered and cinematographic.’ He released the Diamond Daze (2004) and This Bliss (2007) albums on Berlin dance label Dial before signing to Rough Trade and widening his audience with Black Noise (2010) and The Element of Light (2013).

On “Conference of Trees”, Pantha Du Prince explores the communication of trees and creates a sound concept based on it. What we experience here is a break through recording of experimental music, visual poetry, club culture and speculative science.

Initially a duo formed in Berlin, FITH have since multiplied and expanded to become a revolving collective of musicians and poets spread out across a Paris/Manchester/Berlin axis. The project, currently comprised of members Dice Miller, Enir Da, Rachel Margetts, ChrIs Lmx, & Arnaud Mathé gesture towards notions of the literary salon, expanded cinema happenings, and the ancient traditions of Greek oratory and religious sermons. Driven by the spell of the spoken word, minimal percussive refrains, oneiric textures & deep melodic synths, FITH channel cinematic imagery, enigmatic narratives & spiritual frenzy.

Their self-titled debut 12' album was released via their collectively run imprint Wanda Portal in November 2016, a 'quietly alluring debut of post punk tempered avant-pop songs' (Boomkat) that laid out the project's foreboding mystique and intoxicating dream sequences with a lurking, devastating sense of purpose and (mis)direction. Other outings have included myriad solo collections of poetry, a two-track release of lurid dissonance and elegiac elevation (Signs / Cornerstone, December 2016) and an extraordinary reinterpretation of the soundtrack for cult film & iconic document of modern alienation Wanda (1971, dir. By Barbara Loden)

With Swamp, their sequel to this activity and their first appearance on Outer Reaches, FITH become a refined force, on a record where all their compelling pluralities and attributes are honed and augmented; everything dilated to delirium. The atmosphere here is one of veiled dread and psychic disturbance, a haunting and macabre psychedelia strewn with echo and dub FX, fragmentary fever dream poetics, elemental drum patterns and volatile synthetic interference. Although the collective conserve the raw crux of their earlier material their execution is, in this special instance, heightened by an intent to broaden and prolong their unique strain of intensity.

Emphatically sinister openers like Forest and Pound present sidereal sequences before building to barrelling, corrosively processed percussion, paroxysmal free jazz and a baleful, concrète-inflected score of electronics, while Swamp introduces phasing currents and a vocal evocative of a chorale from some forgotten giallo film. Elsewhere l'au delà (the beyond) presents a stunning, sombre passage to another state entirely, like some desolate new inflection on Coil's Going Up, before Bialystok shifts into a finale of transportive and meditative evaporation. Together these tracks make for an incredibly immersive and congruous conception; an utterly complete and mesmerising document.

In Swamp's various dimensions perhaps there's comparisons to be drawn with the ritualistic krautrock of Conny Plank and Holger Czukay's Les Vampyrettes, with the hallucinatory, tribal rhythm cycles of Shackleton & Anika's Behind The Glass collaboration, with the primeval drone of Jeremie Sauvage, Mathieu Tilly and Yann Gourdon's France project, with the echoic, disquieting chamber intimacies of Tuxedomoon's Pink Narcissus material and with Lucrecia Dalt's eerie free verse abstractions. But really, we've not heard anything like this before.

Discussing their own inspirations and touchstones the collective cites Franz Kafka, Dario Argento, Lucrecia Martel's La Ciénaga (The Swamp - the film the record is named after) and Yiddish ghost theatre as figures, works and artforms that were prominently drawn upon during the making of Swamp. Yet whilst their imprints could be traced by some, they resemble more of a covert presence within a nuanced whole rather than obvious aspects which moor this record to any familiar setting.

Instead, the acutely unsettling yet poignant spoken word of Miller and the mercurial nocturnes and visitations produced by Margetts, Lmx, Mathé and Da make for a record of strange, novel and striking energies. In revealing the remarkable location and period in which Swamp was recorded Margetts and Miller give a vivid indication as to how these energies are so potently invoked:

'The record was mostly recorded in a caretaker's wing of a 17th century castle in Normandy. It was early March 2018, and our first encounter with the Spring. We had no idea how everything would unfold. There was a lot of tension. Some of us felt compelled to get out the attic room where we had set up our makeshift recording studio and just walk and walk down the vast flat meadows and explore the relics of the wartime barracks, others wanted to keep recording. The outside was serene and inviting, and even though we had been cooped up indoors recording for long stretches of time, we could see from the corner of our eyes, the branches of the trees quivering; an impersonal energy blew through us and then things just happened.'

Musically and emotionally, Superpitcher's third full-length studio album, The Golden Ravedays is a one sound autobiography that exhibits the skill, feeling and style that the artist has honed over a period of twenty years, musically, and forty-plus-years, emotionally.

And full-length it is:

The Golden Ravedays is an epic album of 24 tracks that was released in January 2017 and is stretching over 12 respective chapter albums during a one-year period.

The fourth chapter of The Golden Ravedays saga will be released on Hippie Dance in April 2017.

Number 4 of the series introduces two further tracks of the sound adventure that Superpitcher is taking us on this year.

Side A features Blood and Berry.

It is a captivating track that reminds one of the very first years when Superpitcher made music under the alias Sir Positive.

The beat is broken and the going is slow and rolling and the listening is a warm bath. There are flutes there that one never wants to stop and they almost don't. However essentially sweet this track is, like a berry on the tongue, it might lead to some blood on the dance floor!
Listening to Side B of this Golden Ravedays edition is entering a ghost town, alone, under a full moon.

Howl is a confluence of melodies and rhythms from Africa to Arabia where the snakes are being charmed out of their baskets and it is downright creepy.

A spooky voice is saying something but we don't know what exactly and it is bothersome because deep down we know that tonight when we are alone in the dark, we should be ready with the answer - or else.

All we can do is wonder:

Did Superpitcher sell his soul to the vampires for the vocals he let lose in this track

He answers by howling at the full moon behind thorn trees, in the shadows.

Entertaining, thoughtful and brave!

We salute the wolves and their master.

Hooo-oooowl!

This is France in the Mitterrand years: fashions fleet as fast as governments. In the early eighties, the happy-go-lucky gather the nectar of each and every new release.
Believing in a bright future for videotex, and loosened up by the sexy talks broadcasted on the budding pirate radios, the new generation dreams of dance floors and holiday clubs. French Boogie, which preserves the spirit of these years of boodle and bunkum, is the ideal soundtrack to their dreams.

What the web now refers to as French Boogie is some synthetic funk reflecting the spirit of those days when nothing was impossible, or so it seemed. Its syncopated flow heralded the dawning of French rap. Often considered as some kind of post-disco, inspired as much by black music as by new wave, this carefree pop music with bawdy lyrics indulged in simple pleasures: holidays, swank and sun were recurrent themes. Totally in tune with its time, it incidentally glorified luxury, success, and a certain consumerism embodied, for instance, in Bernard Tapie.

In popular clubs such as La Main Bleue in Montreuil, or L'Echappatoire in Clichy-sous-Bois - where Micky Milan could be seen behind the decks - an enthusiastic audience discovered this new sonic wave, influenced as much by French pop as by Sugar Hill Gang or Kurtis Blow. The artists who first launched the movement engaged in it wholeheartedly, but as often the case with new music trends in France, humour and casualness quickly became a decoy to impose a new style. This explosive mixture, in which startling and typically Frenchy French lyrics go along New-York-style tunes, is sometimes reminiscent of the kinky comedies directed by Max Pécas or Claude Zidi. On this prolific scene, partly originating from the Jewish community, everybody was looking for success, trying to hit the jackpot with what was to hand. Famous media personalities, one-hit wonders or John Does in quest of fame, all had a go at French Boogie - more or less successfully. Apart from « Vacances j'oublie tout » by Elégance, « Un fait divers et rien de plus » by Le Club, or « Chacun fait ce qui lui plaît » by Chagrin d'amour (produced by Patrick Bruel), very few songs became hits: the story of funk in France is that of a half-baked robbery.

In this myriad of new musicians, the very young François Feldman and Phil Barney pioneered a fresh and hybrid style. Other well-known artists like Gérard Blanc from Martin Circus (Attaché Case), Richard de Bordeaux (Ich), or Jean-Pierre Massiera (Anisette, Pirate Scratch Band, Mandrake, Scratch Man...) added an eccentric touch to this sound-wave, making it often entertaining, and sometimes showy.

Capture d'écran 2015-10-26 à 12.55.43Singers like Agathe (the author of 'La Fourmi' and of the hit song 'Je ne veux pas rentrer chez moi seule') were far more than just window dressing. They even tried to give an ironic and subversive twist to this rather harmless genre. The very vindictive rebel Gérard Vincent shared in this spirit, but as a whole, French Boogie became associated with nonchalance and sauciness. Thus, Stéphane Collaro, Gérard Jugnot, Alain Gillot Pétré and other TV clowns would clumsily contribute to this French variation on funky sounds. In a few but intense years, French Boogie gave all the tips to party with style.

If some hits made it possible for the happy few to get a real house under truly exotic palm trees, the wave actually ebbed away very quickly, leaving quite a few musicians stranded on the shore. Whether they were sincerely motivated, or simply opportunistic, they had failed. In 1984, French Boogie was already breathless, and got merged with other genres: on the one hand, rap and breakdance adapted its flow to a more urban world, especially with Sydney's show, H.I.P.H.O.P, and Dee Nasty's broadcasts on Radio Nova; on the other, italo, new beat and house began to rule over dance floors, even more strongly asserting the will to develop music for clubs.

Squeezed in between the age of disco and that of modern electronic music, French Boogie was a transitional phase, but it remains an amazingly refreshing testimony to the intermingling of pop and underground cultures. The genre was hastily categorized as anecdotal in spite of its pioneering synthetic groove and matchless bass lines. An attentive ear will discover the poetry of the ephemeral beyond the eccentricities of the genre, as well as a certain unexpected avant-gardism. At the origin of major music trends, always cheerful and catchy, French Boogie is what you need to party.