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Gig review round up: Vladislav Delay, To Rococo Rot, Four Tet, Villalobos, Konono No.1

June 9th, 2010

It’s been a while, and as such I’ve gone and not written about a bunch of stuff I intended to write about. To catch up and make the most of the bits I remember before it all ebbs away, behold my quickfire roundup style post:

Vladislav Delay, Gudrun Gut & AGF, To Rococo Rot: London, 11/03/10

Who? Finnish ambient electronica guru / Berlin techno stalwarts / minimal post-rock legends

Where? Berlin Sounds at Queen Elizabeth Hall, London, part of the Ether Festival 2010

Well? I went for Vladislav Delay having recently fallen in love with his deeply atmospheric, ambient sound. The track that really captured me was Huone from the album Multila, a 22-minute dub techno epic and a masterpiece of pacing and sound design. The only dissapointing thing about his set was that at around 30 minutes it was too short. For that half hour, though, the audience were immersed, womb-like, in gorgeous, sweeping atmospheres, clattery bursts of rhythm (some generated live with various springy things and a motion sensor device) and the odd pulsing beat. Gorgeous, accomplished, hypnotising stuff.

To Rococo Rot, a band I was previously unfamiliar with, headlined with a set of evolving, tight and very satisfying post-rock. They were joined on stage by Hans Joachim Irmler of Faust who tinkered jazz-like with a beautiful stack of ancient looking analog keyboards and synths. The collaboration went over my head somewhat as all the musicians were new to me, but the show was wonderful nonetheless.

Unfortunately Gudrun Gut and AGF somewhat let the side down with their monotonous, derivitive and frankly dull composition based on a construction site. Their cringe inducing spoken word vocals (”mix-machine, mix-mix-machine”), slip ups both technical and non-technical (the foil-covered comb instrument failed to deliver) and uninspiring visuals left me cold.

Four Tet, Nathan Fake: Brighton, 17/03/10

Who? Experimental folktronica hero / UK techno and electronica whiz-kid

Where? Concorde 2, Brighton.

Well? I like Nathan Fake’s album, Drowning in a Sea of Love, but was underwhelmed when I saw him performing a set of directionless, electronic noodling to a crowd of overly enthusiastic teenagers at Bestival a few years ago. However, tonight he stood his ground and delivered some good old foot stomping techno. Perhaps slightly misjudged as school night support for a folktronica producer, but then Four Tet’s latest LP There is Love in You is pretty much a deep house album anyway, so fair play.

The man himself ran through most tracks on his new album, plus a few classics, and after a slow start ended up rocking the house with his glitchy, sometimes-noisy-always-pretty new found house sound. I was expecting a slightly more dynamic performance – much as I adore electronic music and am a keen supporter of it’s live delivery, there’s something quite uninspiring about a man behind a computer. However, it was a very enjoyable set. Kieren Hebdan is at the head of his game and continues to evolve a unique sound in a genre of immitators and wannabe’s.

Ricardo Villalobos: London, 20/03/10

Who? Minimal techno uber-god

Where? Fabric, London.

Well? For the 4th time, I failed to see Ricardo Villalobos, despite him being something of a hero of mine. It’s becoming a joke. First attempt, the decks at Bestival didn’t work and Ricky V just put records on and looked disgruntled that he couldn’t flex his (very impressive) DJ muscles. Second attempt, he was on at 2pm in Berlin superclub Berghain – it was crowded, and the middle of the afternoon. I couldn’t be bothered and watched someone else. Third attempt, again in Berlin, he was on first rather than last as one would assume for a headliner. Arriving fashionably late meant I missed him, again.

And so, fourth attempt. Fabric, my favourite London night spot of old, has really lost it. It resembled an overcrowded tourist attraction – no room to dance, hipsters everywhere, no atmosphere. Plus I was ill and Ricardo wasn’t on until 5am. I went home at 4.30 after a night of dancing a bit to some pretty good house and techno. Harrumph. Full post dedicated to the demise of Fabric coming soon…

Konono No.1, Omar Souleyman: Bristol, 11/05/10

Who? Congalese afro-trance thumb piano maestros / Syrian folk-pop legend

Where? Metropolis, Bristol.

Well? Counter to the publicised line-up, Konono No.1 (my reason for going) were on first not last and as such they played to a sparse crowd until things picked up as their set went on. Which was a good job, because music like theirs needs atmosphere, energy and activity. I was pleased to see that the band consisted of 4 thumb pianos, percussion and voices – no electric guitars as featured on their latest album, Assume Crash Position. Not that the addition of Western instrumentation is a problem, the album is excellent. But I was glad to experience them doing it the way they’ve done it for the last 25 years.

I’ve mentioned Konono No.1 in this blog before, being as they are the band who introduced me to electric thumb pianos, my new favourite sound in the world. They played a stunningly visceral set of tunes that lasted an average of around 20 minutes, during which time the pulsing, buzzing energy of their music fully infected me. At points I worried that I didn’t have enough body parts to move to do justice to the polyrhythms coming from the stage. This wasn’t the case for much of the audience, however, presumably because they were British and as such scared of dancing!

All told, I’ve never experienced a live show like it. Utterly mesmerizing and unique.

Omar Souleyman is hugely prolific, with over 500 albums to his name. His sound is Middle Eastern folk meets Eurotrance. It was interesting for about 20 minutes but I found it got quite repetitive and, dare I say it, cheesy. A few more live instruments would have helped – the keyboard player was excellent but relying on synthasized wind and percussion let the overall sound down. Souleyman himself, who must be in his 50’s, looked slightly incongruous in his traditional garb with his traditional vocals over banging trance beats, but I guess that’s just because I’m not used to it.

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DJ Mix – Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies

May 3rd, 2010
Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies - cover

Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies - cover

Over the years I’ve gathered a small selection of house, techno and electronica tunes that have a certain unique atmosphere about them. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I find them utterly immersive and hypnotic. Superficially the music can appear stark, muddled or perhaps even sinister, but underneath is a warmth, richness and depth of production that makes me drift blissfully away.

Anyway, rather than attempt to write about it I thought it would be far more sensible to make a mix! So may I present for your listening pleasure, Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies. Download using the arrow on the right of the Soundcloud box:

Submerged: Deep House and Techno Lullabies by thereverseengineer

Download cover art

Track Listing:

1 – 0:00 – Casino Versus Japan – Vessels that float out of metals that sink Part 3
2 – 5:00 – Vladislav Delay – Huone
3 – 10:55 – Boy Robot – Just my reflection and me
4 – 15:30 – Denzel and Huhn – Targo
5 – 17:12 – D’lubb Mecheen & Vela featuring Tara Busch – Rented Room (Swayzak’s Dwarf House Mix)
6 – 22:00 – Akufen – Even White Horizons
7 – 27:15 – His Name Is Alive – One Year (Four Tet remix)
8 – 30:37 – Electric Birds – Frames
9 – 34:03 – Aphex Twin – Actium
10 – 39:00 – Jill Scott – Slowly Surely (Theo Parrish Remix)

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Posted in DJ mix, deep house, electronica, music, techno | 2 Comments »


 

Chris Cunningham live at the Brighton Dome, 19th April 2010

April 20th, 2010
Windowlicker

Windowlicker

It’s been a long time since I saw any Chris Cunningham films. Like most people I was wowed by his 90’s splurge of awe-inspiring, utterly original and mostly very dark music videos for the likes of Aphex Twin, Portishead and Bjork. I also liked some of his more commercial output (Madonna, PlayStation adverts) and his uncharacteristically sedate video for Leftfield. Then there’s the curios like Monkey Drummer. But I think the last full-length Chris Cunningham film I saw was Rubber Johnny in 2005. This seemed to display a return to his dark, experimental roots, taking the unsettling horror movie vibe of Come To Daddy a stage further.

Last night I was re-introduced to the twisted world of Cunningham in spectacular style. If Rubber Johnny took the horror up a notch then his latest live show, projected on to 3 giant screens with accompanying audio, raises it so high that it blows the scale. Falling somewhere between a musical performance (featuring classic tracks and Cunninghams own remixes/productions) and live cinema, it was an hour of profoundly unsettling but arresting and accomplished work.

Cunningham’s trademark marriage of sound and visuals is still ever present but both more refined and more direct: it’s easy to miss the syncopation between the flash of a train wheel sparking and a wheeze of static, but somewhat easier to spot the association between a woman bouncing her giant breasts in time with the throbbing beat.

Much of the audio is cacophonous and lacking a regular rhythm but there is always that inseparable correlation between it and the visuals. This is where Cunningham excels (I often wonder why other video artists miss the chance to tie visual and sonic cues together to even a fraction of the degree exhibited by Cunningham). However, I preferred the more rhythmic output of his early music videos – there was something profound and organic, almost synaesthetic, about this audiovisual inseparability that I think is slightly lacking from the frenetic noise of his current work.

The performance was divided into several pieces, some with themes more obvious than others but with no overarcing narrative. In this way it was like a twisted VJ set. Proceedings started with footage moving around some kind of machine that fired green lazers. An actual lazer spat spears of light over the audience too, giving the impression that you were in the machine.

Next came a sallow, yellowy-green mound of flesh; slowly writhing. At first I wasn’t sure if it was one body or several, but it transpired that it was a man and a woman. What could have been rough love developed into near-rape and then brutal, mutual violence in a film that pulled no punches. Explicit sexual imagery was sporadically flashed on the outermost screens whilst centre stage the man and woman, naked, beat the shit out of each other in perfect syncopation with aggressive techno. Donna Summer’s I Feel Love was slowly introduced into the mix making it all the more obvious that Cunningham was exploring the links between sex and violence.

It wouldn’t have been nearly so disturbing if it was two men or even two women fighting and I’m undecided as to whether the woman getting even in the fight justified the fact she was the only bloodied party and that, moments earlier, she was lying prone and apparently defeated as the man loomed over her, grasping his semi-erect penis. Pretty full on stuff, and whilst I felt prompted to make a moral judgment regarding man versus woman in the context of sexual dominance, I wonder in hindsight if the piece had such clear cut intentions.

I thought things were going to lighten when I heard the twinkle of a Boards of Canada tune, but it didn’t last. Neither did the ‘Intermission’ which was declared on-screen, superceeded by a few seconds of inertness, then followed by the message ‘Intermission Ends’ and an explosion of noise. Funny! (Funny ha-ha or Funny mental I’m not sure!) Some classic videos like Windowlicker made an appearance, as did the alien-looking PlayStation girl.

The final piece is the one that has stayed with me most strongly. Apparently Cunningham has been working with Gil Scott-Heron’s new material, utilising night-time footage of trains and subways to augment Heron’s from-the-heart poetry. His tired visage was overlaid on a black background as shooting lights gradually revealed themselves to be trains, stations, tunnels and track. Heron gruffly spoke/sung his bluesy lament over stark, ringing, swooping synths. With the brooding, edgy urban visuals it made for a foreboding finale. It seems that Heron’s latest material fits perfectly with Cunninghams teasing out of the modern cityscape’s innate light and sound show. For me it held the kind of detached and unsettling yet strangely beautiful aesthetic that is found under streetlamps in pre-dawn drizzle; deserted industry; places where the stamp of humanity is so saturated that humanity itself is absent.

Overall I think Cunningham has become more explicit and brash, which in some ways is a shame. It seems that pleasant and uplifitng noises, music and visuals aren’t part of modern experimental electronic discourse. Take the talks hosted by the Southbank Centre’s annual Ether festival this year, focussing as they are on the controlling, homogenising nature of urban landscapes and electronic music. I think there’s room for a more optimistic and beauty-focussed voice, myself. That said, Chris Cunningham remains an undeniably powerful and technically mind-boggling artist, still with the power to shock and captivate and still at the top of his game.

PS, I’d highly recommend sourcing decent copies of his videos if you haven’t seen them – YouTube just doesn’t do them justice.

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Concert Review: Steve Reich Drumming, Queen Elizabeth Hall, 16/02/10

February 28th, 2010

Ah, Steve Reich – favourite classical composer and key influence of many an electronic musician. A DJ friend of mine once declared that Steve Reich invented techno back in the 50’s, and often drops Reich into his club sets. It’s easy to hear why when you listen to Reich’s rich back catalgoue of textured, polyrhythmic compositions, and Drumming is an obvious choice for reverence by the percussively obsessed such as myself.

The Colin Currie Group performed the piece to a packed Queen Elizabeth Hall, part of the Southbank Centre in London. Centre stage was a row of bongos, which is where the piece begins. Several musicians hammer out an utterly hypnotic beat that starts simply enough but grows increasingly complex as more drummers join the frey. The nature of the piece is such that you’re ‘tripped up’ regularly as the beat you’re tapping along to is subtly skewed when a new phrase comes in. This gives the piece an unpredictable momentum despite it’s cyclical nature.

Seeing how some of the percussionists stood rigid and composed while others moved and swung with the groove was interesting. No doubt their movement (or lack of) was dictated by the parts they were playing as well as by their individual way of physically engaging with music.

After a mesmerising first part, the marimbas come in. Another fascinating aspect of Drumming is that the timbral quality of each new instrument is echoed in the preceeding one, so for instance you’re not sure whether you’re hearing an actual marimba or a marimba-like effect arising from layered bongos. The same is so when the female vocal and the piccolo come in – the vocal sounds like layered glockenspiels, and the piccolo sounds like a female voice. Very clever composition, and kind of amusing and rewarding at the same time for the audience!

After the marimba section it’s the turn of the glockenspiels. There are a few moments in Drumming where the generally wave-like, evolving and subtle sound is punctuated with a brisk and overwhelming change – one such moment is when the glockenspiels drop. The hall was suddenly drenched in a sweet, high pitched, metallic ringing after the steady, wooden plonk of the glocks.

The vocals and the piccolo ebb and flow throughout the piece bringing ethereal whisps of character and melody to an otherwise fairly mechanical piece. Having said that, the mechanical nature of the music (in other words its tight, repetitive rhythmic structure) never leaves it lacking warmth or vitality.

The crescendo sees all the instruments joining in for a truly breathtaking finale. The combined sound is simply beautiful and by this time I was so transfixed I just didn’t want it to end. Such a tangible, emotional and visceral effect from a performance is rare and was akin to meditation. But of course end it did, and I was left dazed, exhausted and wondering how it had been an hour already!

Following the concert was a talk with Steve Reich himself, lead percussionist Colin Currie and the Southbank Centre’s Gillian Moore. The piece has a clear West African influence and it was fascinating to hear how Reich travelled to this area and Indonesia where percussion take centre stage in the orchestra. On returning home he transcribed what he’d heard and set about composing a Western interpretation, the results of which can be heard in many of his pieces but most notably in Drumming. I was also interested to hear how the piece is scored leaving much room for interpretation by the performers, depending on how they feel on the night. No doubt this adds to the organic flow of the piece. Reich also revealed how his use of tape loops while composing Drumming accidentally lead to the timbral ambiguities described above. He was listening to a recorded section of marimbas, thought he heard a female voice, and thought “hey, why not add an actual female voice!” Magic and accident, as Matthew Herbert puts it.

Steve Reich remains a hero of mine – his use of rhythm is thrilling and inspiring and hearing Drumming performed by such an accomplished group of musicians was a treat indeed.

Watch a performance of Part 1:

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Gig Review: Carl Craig, Francesco Tristano & Moritz von Oswald, Matmos, Bugge Wesseltoft & Henrik Schwarz duo

February 14th, 2010

The Red Bull Music Academy visits a different city each year and presents a series of gigs, lectures and workshops to promote music both new and old. This year it’s Londons turn to play host. Friday 12th February saw techno luminaries, jazz men and classical musicians collaborating for an exciting 3 hours of experimental music at the Royal Festival Hall.

Starting proceedings were Norweigan jazz musician and producer Bugge Wesseltoft and German deep house producer/DJ Henrik Schwarz. As the audience filed in the duo got off to what looked like a juddery start but soon settled into a pleasing, off-kilter rhythm – they obviously work well together and their sounds and approaches to making them are well suited.

Wesseltoft had at his disposal a grand piano and a table of electronics including a MIDI keyboard, a synth and a laptop. He stretched between the two, looping up piano melodies ranging from delicate to grandiose and applying filters and effects as he went. Shwarz, meanwhile, introduced electronic beats, textures and effects via a Macbook and an array of pro-audio gear.

While there were times when the combined sounds built steadily to impressive and interesting peaks, each musician also had time to shine individually – Wesseltoft’s incredible jazz piano being given dominance before Shwarz’s gradually building 4/4 beats took over and had the audience (or me, at least) wishing I was on a dance floor instead of sat in a concert hall.

As the set proceeded Weesseltoft employed various unconventional means to produce his sounds including plucking the internal strings of the piano and squatting in front of an African glockenspiel-like instrument. The set ended here, infact, with Shwarz joining him at the front of the stage armed with a Novation Launchpad (one of my favourite MIDI toys and interesting to me as it implies Shwarz is a fellow user of Ableton Live) for an improvised avant-glitch-rock-out!

Next up were Baltimore experimental duo Matmos. Introducing themselves as ‘the comic relief’ and explaining how they’d fought through the worst snow storm in 90 years to be there, they proceeded to build a slightly menacing soundscape with found objects (whistling through a biro lid, shaking childrens toys previously dug out of a plastic baggie), a high-hat, the obligatory macbooks and various other bits of kit. I was under the impression that they were primarily sound artists so when a seriously fat techo beat dropped I was pleasantly surprised, as were several other audience members who whooped and cheered in true dancefloor style. I liked that they spoke to the audience as well – too many electronic and experimental musicians hide behind an aura of mystery or geekery and remain quite faceless. Matmos were engaging and amusing as well as playing a blinding set.

The main draw of the evening was the collaboration between Carl Craig, Moritz Von Oswald and Francesco Tristano. Carl Craig needs no introduction, being a figurehead of Detroit techno and recently working on increasingly diverse projects. Moritz Von Oswald represents the Berlin side of the techno coin and is a pioneer of the more minimal style. Francesco Tristano is a classical pianist but is also heavily involved in contemporary experimental music, too. Joining them was a fourth musician on saxophone – unfortunately his name escapes me.

Seeing such a diverse ensemble in such a setting (the huge, revered space of the Royal Festival Hall) was quite something and it was thrilling to hear the blending of the elements that each musician brought to the table. For me, Tristano’s piano was the most exciting, particularly because he was armed with a laptop, too, and seems to instinctively think outside the classical box. The addition of the saxophone gave proceedings an earthy soul. In fact the piano and brass sat in perfect harmony with the techno beats that Craig and Oswald laid down, Detroit techno being particularly drenched in soul as it is. To hear it as a live element rather than a sample was fantastic.

Speaking of those beats, again I wished I was on a dancefloor (as did the guy in front of me who got up to boogie by the speaker stack) as Craig skillfully wove waves and washes of rhythm through the live instrumentation, which periodically dropped out for bouts of hard, 4-to-the-floor action.

While this performance was probably the most rounded and polished, it actually lacked something for it copmpared to the others which had an element of rough-and-readiness about them. Varying the strict 4-to-the-floor beats would have been a nice touch and made the electronic elements more dynamic. This would also have been the case if Moritz Von Oswald actually moved during the performance. Stood motionless behind his computer as he was, it looked like he was doing his accounts.

Overall, though, the evening offered up an exciting and inspirational array of music and it was a pleasure to see such diverse musicians coming together. The boundaries between live and pre-recorded, classical and dance, continue to be blurred. On this subject, interesting questions about context were raised in my mind, but I’m going to save those for another post. I’m going to see Steve Reich’s Drumming performed at Royal Festival Hall’s sister venue next week and I’d like to compare the 2 gigs before drawing any conclusions.

I should also mention the visuals that accompanied the concert. A huge screen formed the backdrop to the stage, on to which were projected various visuals from the bizarre and slightly disturbing brain-like ripples during Matmos to the perfectly judged pixel-like blocks and 3D lattices during Carl Craig et al. Since live electronic music is prone to being slightly dull to watch, the projections added a visual energy that matched the music.

Once the concert itself had finished, DJ Sprinkles (aka Terre Thaemlitz) DJ’d some fantastic house music in the Southbank Centre’s Clore Ballroom. An initially trepidatious audience soon gave themselves over to the atmosphere and it was good to see a wide age range getting down to some proper house music in a classical venue!

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Perfect Tunes 2: Boards of Canada – Telephasic Workshop

February 7th, 2010

Music has the Right to Children

Do you have records or songs that are responsible for revealing to you an entirely new sonic world? A piece of music so different to those you’ve heard before, or so in tune with your head that it feels like it’s composed from the same impulses and waves? I do, and I treasure those rare but tangible moments.

Back when my obsessive drum & bass days were waning I was dabbling in more chilled styles of music and electronica peaked my interest, almost exclusively down to a Bomb the Bass mix recorded from BBC Radio 1. While it featured no Boards of Canada, I visited my local record shop (Rounder of Brighton in this case) and dug through their electronica section. This is where I pulled out the mottled green, slightly sinister sleeve of Music has the Right to Children, BOC’s first album for Warp. The write up on the front implied it was one of the best albums ever recorded. With such an accolade my decision was made – I took it home, stuck it on, and the way I listened to music changed.

The whole album is a sublime experience of hazy, nostalgic childhood summers – if a recording can have the aesthetic of Super-8 Cinefilm, this one has it. But the track that really stands out for me (and has done since the very first listen) is track 4: Telephasic Workshop. Unlike many of BOC’s tunes, this one is deeply funky and totally danceable. Like most of their tunes, it is wonky and saturated in glitch and ambience. Starting with a muffled hint of the beat and a pretty synth line straight from an 80’s school science program, the beat soon fills out with a heavy kick, an integral vocal snippet and a crisp snare.

Just as you’re grooving along to the shuffly rhythm, a strangely cut up vocal steadily fades in on the left channel, soon joined by the right. Increasing layers of male and female voices taken completely out of context and unintelligable for the most part stutter and splutter along with the beat. The resulting groove is perfectly programmed but still organic and natural. The fact that you can’t tell what the voices are saying makes you listen more closely and adds a delicate air of mystery or suspense to the track. I have a theory that such tricks are what give this kind of music it’s nostalgic air, the half-information without a definite source open to infinite interpretation reminiscent of a childhood state of mind, but that’s for another post!

Telephasic Workshop also features another of my favourite musical phenomena – that of the ’single, perfect sound’. Again, I don’t get this often, and for some reason it usually concens a snare (Underworld’s Pearls Girl has possibly the most perfectly placed snare drum I’ve ever heard) but in this tune, it’s one of the vocal snippets. It occurs but twice, lasts less than a second, is a kind of high pitched hiccup, and marries the beats preceeding and proceeding it so perfectly that it makes me shudder. It concludes and anticipates in equal measure. Perhaps it was a complete accident rather than planned production – if so, I think I love it all the more!

Once it’s established its dual hooks of fat & funky beat with stuttered voice samples, the tune rolls on for a few minutes before petering out to the original synth line. It’s deceptively simple but feels far more complicated. For me, it also feels ‘important’. I don’t really know how to explain it, but this and some other pieces of music somehow have a certain gravity or urgency that make them feel important (in a metaphysical way rather than in a current affairs way).

I still remember sitting on my bed as Telephasic Workshop floated to an end for the first time and staring open mouthed at the record deck. I had literally never heard anything like it. It introduced me to a world of intricate but effortless production that sounded at once futuristic and antiquated. It did away with conventions (admittedly inventing it’s own, but thats what innovation does) and took risks. It was playful but serious. Most importantly for me, it was the opening of the door to genuinely emotional electronic music, a door that had previously been nudged ajar by the likes of DJ Shadow, but Boards of Canada managed to push it wide open.

Listen to Telephasic Workshop

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Posted in Perfect Tunes, electronica, music | No Comments »


 

Making an electric thumb piano

January 19th, 2010

A few years ago I bought the Gilles Peterson in Africa album which features many a fine tune but none finer, in my opinion, than the fuzzy, buzzy, plinky-plonky, frenetic madness of Lufuala NDonga by Konono No.1. Every so often I hear a piece of music and know that I’ve hit on something that will stay with me, and probably turn into a minor obsession. Such was the case with Konono No.1 and their contemporaries. I’ve since aquired the Congotronics 2 compilation which features similar stuff and, as suspected, I am now firmly obsessed with electric thumb pianos.

The sound of Congotronics is a sort of hypnotic DIY punk trance. The musicians, all of whom hail from the Congo, make their own instruments out of found and salvaged parts, resulting in a very lo-fi sound. The most distintive is that of the thumb pianos which are fitted with pick ups and then fed through various effects pedals, mainly distortion. It’s essentially street music but has aquired a bit of a following in recent years. There are clear comparisons between this sound and that of Western club music – the polyrhythmic structure, the repetitive hooks, the intensity and build up of the tunes.

My friend and musical collaborator Matt shares my obsession and, being something of a technical whizz, decided he would try his hand at building his own electric thumb piano. Various parts have been salvaged so far, such as a steel strut from an old wardrobe (apparently it will make an idea bridge.) He’s bought a pair of Belcat GT538 acoustic guitar pick ups and while he hunts down the wood for the body and the keys themselves (old bike spokes are the thing, we hear), the other day we attached the pick-ups to my ready-made, tried and tested, off the shelf (via Afrcia) thumb pianos to see what noises we could make.

Having strapped them to the body of the thumb piano with an elastic band and ran them into Matts mixer via a guitar distortion pedal, we weren’t getting much more than static and feedback. It turned out that the signal was way too weak – a preamp was needed. First we tried the little preamp that came with my Soundman OKM binaural microphones (being careful to feed it’s stereo input with a mono signal using techno-skills I didn’t quite understand), but this had no effect. In the end Matt, utilising more confusing technical wizardry, used his mixer as a giant and over qualified preamp to boost the signal. Lo and behold, distorted electric thumb piano noises! Yes!

pick ups attached to the bridge of the thumb piano

pick ups attached to the bridge of the thumb piano

Que an hour or two of us excitedly wiring our contraption through various different effects, having a good old play and getting over excited. Flanger and digital delay work very well, as does a Tonebender distortion pedal, although the latter would really benefit from a proper preamp and mixing some of the clean signal in with the distorted one. While the setup was far from ideal it has a lot of potential. I think Matts homemade masterpiece is going to be amazing.

thumb piano - pick ups - effects - mixer - joy!

thumb piano - pick ups - effects - mixer - joy!

Watch this space – Konono No.2 are coming… In the meantime, listen to some shonky snippets of the work in progress:

Electric thumb piano delay by thereverseengineer

Electric thumb piano distort by thereverseengineer

Electric thumb piano flange by thereverseengineer

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Posted in Audio Clips, Audio Experiments | 4 Comments »


 

Perfect tunes 1: You’re So Great – Blur.

January 16th, 2010

There are certain pieces of music that I consider perfect. Not to say that I think they are a pinnacle of human artistic endeavour; just that for me, they couldn’t be improved upon. They do something to me. Quite what, I don’t know. (I often wonder at the validity of writing about music and art – I believe that art exists because words have limits. But to not write about it would defy the point in this blog, plus I like a challenge!)

So… having recently included Blur’s You’re So Great (from the Blur album) on a compilation for a friend it’s been doing the rounds in my playlists again, so I’ll start with that.

One of the few Blur songs penned by Graham Coxon (another of my favourites, Coffee and TV, is his too,) ‘You’re So Great’ is an understated, lo-fi ballad about a loved one brightening up an otherwise dreary world. The message is a simple one, almost in a ‘does what is says on the tin’ way.

Sometimes you don’t get past “you’re so great and I love you” when thinking about someone you adore. Or rather you get so far past it that in trying to catch the essence of your feelings you run out of suitable metaphors and adjectives and end up back where you started. There’s beauty in such simplicity; in economy of phrase. To adorn the sentiment with more words, mere words, misses the point.

This is why music is so powerful. There’s another layer behind the poetry of the lyrics. In the case of this song, the fuzzy, Sunday-afternoon monotony is present in the treatment of the vocal, which sounds like it’s coming via a phone line from far away. A slightly distorted, bubbly guitar forms a backdrop to a crisper rhythm line and an intermittent lead. The switches between minor and major chords and the joyful, effortless melody of the lead guitar take you from the buried, introspective fuzz of the verse to the uplifting redemption of the chorus, the words that form the title of the song being delivered acapella and almost deadpan at the choruses crescendo. The end of the song is a contemplative, lilting vocal ‘ooh’ and a gloriously uplifting looped guitar riff – affirmation that everything is going to be alright and a tingle down the spine moment for me.

The song strikes a balance between that kind of minor, downcast, melancholic slump of a mood and the balancing, stirring support that love offers. Both sentiments are present throughout the whole song which leaves it unresolved but neutralised. “I’ll feel like this again, but it doesn’t matter,” it says to me.

Read the lyrics to You’re So Great

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Welcome to the Reverse Engineer’s blog!

January 16th, 2010

Hello!

So, I’ve started a blog. As you might expect, the main focus of my posts will be music and sound, but I also want to write about the things that inspire me to make music. That, basically, covers just about everything. So there we go, in the first sentence of my first post I’ve justified how to bang on about literally anything under the banner of a music blog!

Seriously though, music and sound are so integrated into my life – I’m so nourished by them – that I wouldn’t know where to draw the line when considering my inspirations.  Conciously or subconciously they include the books I read, the people I speak to, the films I watch, stuff that I see, things that pop into my head in the middle of the night… Not to mention, of course, the huge array of music, new and old, I voraciously consume.

My hope is that this blog acts as a sort of log of my creative process. I’ll talk about the music I love, why certain sounds move me, and the ways and reasons I make my music. I’ll talk about what makes me tick, my outlook on life and the universe and my thoughts on what I’m reading or watching. For you, the reader, I hope that in amongst the inevitable waffle you discover some great new music, or are inspired in some small way. For me, the writer, perhaps the influences for a tune I make in the future will be tracable back to a post in this blog, thus completing a circle.

Anyway, enjoy, and see you soon!

Dave / The Reverse Engineer

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The Reverse Engineer

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