Tsunoda/Stern/Tarab/English - Overland/Tarab - surfacedrift

Toshiya Tsunoda/Joel Stern/Tarab/Lawrence English
Overland
Naturestrip
NS3002

Tarab
surfacedrift
Naturestrip
NS3001

Long ago, in my college years while studying painting, I “developed” a visual awareness of space that I found quite fascinating (something, I’m sure, that has been independently realized thousands, if not millions of times by others, but something I don’t see referred to very often). It has to do with simply being cognizant of the air between one object and another, of the volume of space surrounding things, the distance between this thing and that. Most of us, I feel fairly safe in saying, go about our daily lives looking at the world in essentially a two-dimensional way, from object to object (I’m talking about purely looking at, not interacting with). So do I, of course. The increased registration involves throwing a mental switch, of turning on one’s “air awareness”. Try it sometime. I find it most dramatic in large spaces, say, the canyons created by buildings in Manhattan, but any location will do. So, shortly thereafter, when I encountered the theories of Cage, especially those involving the hypersensitivity to the generally ignored but rich sound world that’s always available, it was only a small sideways leap to grasping them. Similarly, however, I imagine even those of us who express routine reverence for Cage usually go about our business ignoring the enveloping aural environment, only considering it when we turn on one of those “switches”. In these situations, it seems to me, obviously, impossible to be evaluative of what we perceive in terms of “good” or “bad”; if anything, it’s all good. A sound environment may be lulling, shrill, deafening, almost-not-there, but it is what it is and judging it in any manner seems utterly beside the point.

All this by way of considering how one reviews field recordings, which loose category I’ve been hearing (and enjoying) more and more of in recent days, including new releases discussed here. Toshiya Tsunoda’s “Reclaimed Land”, the opening track on the fine compilation disc, “Overland”, was recorded one August evening (your writer’s 44th birthday, in fact) in Yokosuka City. Tsunoda has previously worked with airflow sounds (including the movement of air in glass bottles and through manhole covers) and, as no other information is given, it’s possible that similar investigations were undertaken here and collaged into the final product. But it sounds for all the world very much as indicated: “simply” a field recording wherein one hears crickets, small fireworks, some radio play and, throughout, the dull drone of nearby traffic (perhaps—it’s edges are muted enough to make one sometimes unsure as to the source but engines can certainly be heard as well as the odd siren). And it’s fantastic, beautiful. To whom or what does credit accrue? And does it matter? Tsunoda, clearly, exercises a number of specific options, including picking this site instead of another, presumably setting volume and acuity controls, possibly mixing the sounds later, for instance accentuating the audio-spatial distance between foreground and background noises. But let’s say that “Overland” is a fairly faithful replication on 15 or so minutes of that evening, in that place. How could it be “bad”? It sounds very much as I imagine I would hear things were I operating in Cage mode at the time. This, I guess, is one reason I find it so persuasive; maybe others hear environments like this somewhat differently and would find this particular “rendition” of the space as somehow off-putting. On the other hand, why listen to something like this on disc rather than just opening my window to hear current Jersey City variations on the same theme? I’m not sure, but perhaps it has to do with the enjoyment derived from witnessing another human’s appreciation of the sounds he was hearing that evening and the affinity felt by a different person, several years and many miles away.

While Tsunoda’s work might be the closest to pure field recording of the four pieces included in this compilation, each of the others uses sounds derived almost entirely from extra-instrumental sources and each offers some fine, deep listening. Joel Stern’s “Saltwort” lists soda water as contributing element and you get the sense that he’s elaborating on Xenakis’ “Concret PH” which hyper-amplified the tiny sounds of burning charcoal, the pings heard when microscopic air pockets exploded. Here, the prickly bubble sounds audibly effervesce in a delightful spray, evoking an unusually pristine pachinko parlor. Tarab (Eamon Sprod, of whom more below), notes that his “Of hollow traces” was “arranged from a series of improvisations”, making its creative history rather murky, but the initial sounds employed appear to have been generated from ambient sources including water. In an odd way, Tarab’s pieces shows glimmers of narrative structure; one can, without too much difficulty, imagine various story lines traveling along with the music, abstract though the latter is. The second part of the work, with delicate crinklings suspended over harsh, scraping drones, connotes quite an effective sense of foreboding. The final track, Lawrence English’s “A Summer Crush”, returns a good measure toward clearer field recordings, including a great deal of conversation recorded between Japan and Brooklyn. Incidental talk from a restaurant or marketplace, with its accompanying clatter of pans and dishes, is layered upon and weaved through strands of moody hums and various natural sounds such as duck calls, blinking between the threads like small jewels. There’s certainly more a sense of collage structure here than in the Tsunoda, an intentionality that imposes a kind of rigor while at the same time forfeiting the serene naturalness encountered earlier. Both approaches work excellently and if I prefer the former to the latter, it’s only by a handful of subjective degrees.

Tarab’s debut CD, “surfacedrift”, expands on the ideas shown in “Of hollow traces” and does so with depth and beauty. A student of Philip Samartzis, Tarab has clearly acquired something of his teacher’s ear for separation and apposition of sound as well as dramatic structure. He lists among his sound sources, “texture created by microphones dragged through leaves and gravel” and “rain pounding against buildings” and I’m thinking it’s sound derived from this sort of action, outwardly clear but made up of infinitely complex elements, that provides such a rich starting point for much of the music herein. There’s always some form of underlying strata, some bed of noise in place whether it’s a thick tangle of rustles or a lacy scaffold of pings that confuse the listener as to whether they had their genesis in fire or water. There’s a particularly evocative several minutes at the end of the first section made up of creaking wood (a pier?), whistling wind and anonymous bangs and bumps that sounds as dark and ominous as it does coolly bracing. As the title implies, “surfacedrift” alternates skimming over hazily glimpsed scenes and plunging into them with vigor, suddenly immersing you in a welter of noise, buffeting you from all sides. And so it goes, visiting a given area for several minutes, taking in the wealth of noise, moving on, dipping into the next territory, never encountering anything of less than at least passing interest, more often of deep fascination. Tarab even saves the best for last, a piece called “bottle” that, indeed, begins with what sounds like a heavy, rounded glass object being rolled over a flat stone surface in a large, echoing chamber. As elements are added—wet ones, staticky ones, large clangs, mysterious whooshes—the piece begins to bubble, becoming a lava pit of roiling, ceaseless activity. As it subsides, I feel some regret, wishing to tarry longer.

Both of these wonderful discs provide a different approach to eai (if the term applies at all) than much of what we’ve been hearing in recent years. Not better or worse, just another branch that has picked up lessons from AMM, et al and applied them to a framework described by Ferrari and others. It’s an invigorating mix. If the results aren’t too distinguishable from what you hear as you walk around your neighborhood, well, congratulations for having amazing ears and/or living in an awesome neighborhood. Otherwise, check out what these ears, those represented here, have been hearing.

More information is available at: www.naturestrip.com

~ Brian Olewnick