Jason Lescalleet - 'The Pilgrim' (Glistening Examples)

'Sometimes you drive, sometimes you're a passenger.' This is one of the most intense and personal works of avant-garde art that I've ever experienced, and it's actually so extreme in the nature of being personal that I find it very difficult to listen to.  I probably played this once when I got it, and once again today. It's not something I'd just throw on when guests are over, or even very often to listen to myself, such is the effect it has on me, one of feeling inappropriately voyeuristic and of course, sad. That said, I would never part with it; it's a beautiful object that encapsulates everything that humanity is capable of achieving through art –– a total expression that is personal, raw, and relatable (if difficult). This record is a tribute by Jason Lescalleet to his father, who passed away in 2005. The first side contains a piece performed live at a festival a few years earlier, inspired not just by the father himself but by how the elder Lescalleet related to Jason's music, understanding it through his own memories of a car ride with his father, Jason's grandfather. The record begins with Jason's spoken introduction, reading out a letter from his father, and then the piece begins, a rumble that attempts to imagine the soundworld of what his father experienced while young. The liner notes explain that he already knew his father was likely to die with two years of creating this piece, and thus this composition ('His Petition') took on immense significance. It's a beautiful blur of sound, with the guttural momentum of a car engine felt but not heard, and the slow sputtering finish taking on a powerful effect given the motif of death that hangs over this record so much. As someone who sometimes struggles to connect with the emotional resonance of abstraction (despite, obviously being invested into the field for years) this really hits me, not just because of the externally-supplied context, but because this is specifically about how to relate one's own work to a loved one, and how your relationship can grow through your art. It's the second side of this picture disc that is the really difficult material, made up of recordings of Lescalleet's father as he was literally dying, deathbed conversations processed and presented as an actual recording of the end. I have to admit that when listening to this, my mind races to go elsewhere, almost as if this material is too personal, not meant for my ears. It's a struggle to focus on the sounds and the language, and my lack of concentration feels disrespectful to the man and the material. So it's odd to write such praise about an artwork that I actually have trouble experiencing, but in some ways, maybe that's the mark of something truly boundary breaking? Words fail me here, as there's not really any way to do this justice for what it means to Lescalleet and its unique status as a form of expression. I would suggest any reader to seek it out, with the caveat that this is not an uplifting experience, or maybe it actually is, but through the presentation of loss as a shared experience, which is best described as inspirational, not uplifting. But not everything should be uplifting, anyway.

Hevoset (Dekorder)

Two similarly named denizens of the Finnish early-00s tape underground made this collaborative tape, and Dekorder saw fit to reissue it on vinyl. Jan and Jani (from Kemialliset Ystävät and Uton, respectively) have similar approaches to sound, especially in how they make it, being solo artists who assemble crazy surreal soundscapes from tapes, loops, acoustic instruments and primitive electronics. I was reading an essay over the weekend which pointed out that the phrase 'lo-fi' is misleading, because fidelity refers to the ability of the recording to accurately reflect the actual sound, so therefore extremely overproduced studio albums by Queen or whatever are actually lo-fi, since they sound nothing like what those Queen songs sounded like when the band played in a room. This makes me realise that the Hevoset LP (as well as many, many others from the avant/tape underground) are actually extremely hi-fi music. I never saw Hevoset live, but I've seen Tomotonttu and Uton a few times and I know that what you hear is what you get. Perhaps 'tape-fi' is a better term, as this LP sounds like a cassette tape being played. The untitled tracks move from a variety of moods but it's always pretty thick, even when there's more spacious elements. The opening cut of side two is exactly that - tentative acoustic strings pinging around over a rumbling, narcotic drone, pulsing around a vacuous middle. Here the details are all there is, the central narrative is lost, and it's almost conventionally spooky, absent of the more gonzo elements I usually associated with Anderzen's work. Halfway through side 1 there's some crazy percussive bongos thumping around, a caterwaul vocal straining to get out through it all, and actually a good deal of space there as well. But then other tracks are screaming miasmas of affected keyboard tones, or maybe they are guitars or maybe neither; it's the Birchville Cat Motel school of soundscaping, though rough around the edges. The sound of the tape machine itself is often present, the same motor wheelgrind heard behind early 'bi-fi' (see, there's another one) recordings from the early 90s but here placed into an experimental soundnik scenario. I've always loved Jan's sense of motion and Jani's approach to texture; they combine beautifully on a track about midway through the second side where a melodic string figure is stumbling around a melting synth melody; they dart around each other and never quite converge.

Don Dietrich/Ben Hall - 'Spitfire' (What The--?)

Three blistering tracks of free-skronk fury, allowing Dietrich to rip it up without the Borbetosoup around him (I've seen it live but think this is the only recording I've grokked). Ben Hall plays the drums real well, on the first track actually propelling things melodically and on the flipside being an absolute fury of the racktoms. It's a plundering of Sunny Murray's legacy, but I mean that in a good way - the beat is always falling through the centre, like a cylinder spinning so fast you don't know the bottom drops out (remember that amusement park ride?). Dietrich's tone is absolutely sick; on the second track it starts to mellow slightly, but the side-long second half of Spitfire is firmly in the upper scratch channels. Ayler's the obvious comparison because of the tone and construction, though this surprises me a bit - Dietrich always struck me as one step further away from the jazz tradition, though maybe this is Hall's influence. The tempo never drops, not even for a second, and while I often would cite that as a criticism, in this case I'm quite satisfied with the fury. The recording is just the perfect level of fidelity and I like to think of the three planes on the cover as representing three tracks.

Don Cherry - 'Mu Second Part' (Affinity)

It's hard to find a decent-sized image to steal out there, because most of them are for the alternate white BYG issue. But I have both Mus on Affinity, and these back covers are adorned with great-yet-frightening photos of Mr. Cherry. In this second part, he's cracking a mad/evil smile and his eyes are bulging out of his head, but the effect casts him more as a lunatic than a villain. I guess only a lunatic would create a medley called 'The Mysticism of My Sound', a piano-driven suite that actually isn't nearly as mystical as anything else found on the two Mu slices. As suggested at the end of part 1, the piano noodlings are some sort of bridge into an extended piano workout. This is very slow-paced, and quite simplistic. There are bluesy overtones (particularly in the medley's opening movement, named after Dollar Brand), but none of the weird fidelity found on part 1's 'Terrestrial Beings'. Blackwell is holding things down but letting Cherry ring on, and the space is again a nice element (there are long sections where Cherry is only playing with one hand, clearly intending to highlight the melody over any sort of dazzling technique or freedom). It segues into bamboo night (in a piece titled, yes, 'Bamboo Night'), where said flute comes back to prominence, then drifts into the ether. Blackwell ends the side with a mini-solo, where he does that thing drummers do, you know, where they kinda push on the skins and warp the sounds. 'Peo Peo Can' (or 'Teo-Teo-Can' depending on whether you believe the sleeve or the label) begins side 2 with some real mysticism. Cherry plays the Indian flute, chants, and speaks in tongues all at the same time. Blackwell is on tiny percussion - one part sounds suspiciously like those rainsticks you get at airport gift shops. Things finally erupt in 'Psychodrama', another medley, which starts with the trumpet/drums freakout we've all been waiting for. But even this is strangely regal, and comes in bursts. But by the end (after going through another section named after Dollar Brand, with more piano of course), things wither away, the lifeforce receding into the distance. I haven't really sat down and listened to these records in years, at least not as closely as this -- which is, of course, the real purpose of this project. But I found a much more diverse and lively array of musical ideas than you would think only two people would be capable of. In some ways this is Cherry's masterpiece, even though it's sketchy, impulsive and unfocused -- but it may be the best representation of him as a musician. Perhaps these need to be paired with Brown Rice for a better picture.