phroq - collapse

Ground Fault 34

Noise. How do you possibly make qualitative judgments about noises? How do you say, “This noise is lovely, this one boring. This one profound, this one shallow.” It seems to be a fool’s errand, certainly when you’re dealing with the actual, first-hand noise experience. Does it change when a given noise is “lifted” out of multi-dimensional reality and transferred to disc? Damn it, it appears to. Unlike your basic melody, which you might find banal whether encountered in a concert hall or on your stereo, there’s a discriminatory filter that manifests when you know you’re listening to something that, for better or worse, is being presented as an art form. It’s difficult to imagine, for myself anyway, bumping into any sort of naturally or artificially occurring noise in an everyday environment (leaving aside, for the sake of argument, the physically painful, though even there…) that I could possibly “dislike” or find boring any more than I could see a color that, apart from its context, could be deemed ugly. It’s a sound, no more, no less, with no value judgments attached. Chances are, if listened to closely, a “simple” sound is more complex and chaotic than initially perceived just as a white wall is never white. Delivered into a recorded medium, something is, one presumes, inevitably lost but not only that. The listener senses intent behind the action of inclusion and that, I think, is what tinges one’s reaction to the music, the “whys” of its having been introduced more than the sound itself. Unfortunate? Maybe. Inevitable? I’m afraid so.

The thing is, phroq’s (aka Francisco Meirino) album doesn’t really sit as well with these concerns as I initially thought. On first blush, “Collapse” seemed to be a selection of tracks that fluctuated between muted, rumbling pieces that sounded carefully considered and explosions of sheer, mono-dimensional noise of the type designed more for inner-brain laceration than contemplation. But closer listenings revealed not only a rich level of detail in the quieter works (one that I suspected was there from the first) but also more complexity and nuance in the shrieking, roaring ones. If the latter, ultimately, are still not found as rewarding, they’re also not nearly as brittle or willfully arch and self-conscious as originally heard (viz, some prior releases from Ground Fault that I’ve written up here)

There are four “attempts” among the pieces, numbered 4, 2, 1 and 3. They’re short, quieter works, closely examining narrow areas of sound: crinkly textures in the first, soft rumbles in the second, faint whistles with a bit of background clatter in the third and human breath sounds in the last. Each is thoughtful and considered, manifesting an individual and real presence and each is entirely satisfying. The title cut begins with a several second onslaught that will have you leaping for your volume control lest your speakers combust but quickly subsides into some enticing, static-laced subsonics that, if you’re listening on headphones, are like someone idly tapping their fingers on your eardrum. It gradually mutates back near the level of the first few moments and, though you can pick out a number of elements within the maelstrom, there’s something lacking to these ears, some thinness that I don’t pick up, for instance, in some of the more successful, high-volume work of Francisco Lopez. Maybe it’s the difference between feeling like you’re really inside a jet engine or merely in a computer simulation of same. “Music for French Writing” begins somewhat similarly, all squiggly squeals and corroded bleats, complete with some loopy sine work. But when, a minute or two in, it settles into its gravelly roar, there’s a naturalness, almost a groove (!) that’s very appealing. The “whys” of this one working more successfully, sounding more of a piece, are difficult to delineate, but it’s arc seems right, it’s length appropriate, nothing more being said than what’s necessary. But the standout track is “Psychotest, last attempt”. Beginning with ultra-delicate pings right out of Xenakis’ “Concret PH”, it unfolds into a soundscape evoking calving glaciers, enormous engines heard from the next valley, scattering fauna (I gather sourced from field recordings) before ebbing back into those tiny prickles. Beautiful piece, reminding me of some of the better Tsunoda work I’ve heard. The final two cuts veer somewhat between the profundity of that piece and more flamboyant, wildly thrown out aesthesia, a little more hit and miss, a bit more of a grab bag, the last humorously employing something that almost resembles a walking bass line buried somewhere beneath a mountain of noise.

Some real good stuff here on “Collapse” as well as some work that walks an interesting, risky line. If phroq strays and falls off into unnecessary excess on occasion, it might be unfortunate, but it’s tough to hold against him too long, given the several high points attained.