As far as I can tell, Geskia! is a veteran of Japanese hip hop beatcraft, trip hop, IDM, and ambient. He managed to synthesize all of those styles on Muon, building a bliss-scape of radiant tones and sub-liminal pulsation. His sound reminds me of Ultimatum, the recent EP by local underground electronic musician Ghostbug, which I wrote about a few weeks ago.

A few more brief words on Dynamophone. Dynamophone is a music nerd’s record label. They take risks on music largely unpopular, often without even the slightest commercial appeal. (Um, ambient in general . . . ) And not only that—format junkies take note—the albums are immaculately and creatively packaged. A few years back I picked up I dress my ankles with god’s sweetest words EP by folktronica multi-instrumentalist A Lily. The release came on a 3” CDr—and the two sides of the packaging were connected with a richly decorated accordion of lyrics and art. In other words, you get a beautiful product when you support this record label. That’s important, at least to me.

Muon doesn’t come out until February 28, but you can download a preview track from the Utne Reader January digital music sampler here. Stream the album below.

Reliver

It’s easy to forget how quickly computers have infiltrated music, both in the way we listen to it and the process of making it in the first place. Electronica is a category dedicated to music in which computers have been integral to its creation. Distinct from the turntable and other manual editing techniques, using a computer to deconstruct blocks of music and then reassemble them into something new is a mindboggling task, as anyone who has fannied about with Audacity can testify.

Some people have already got the hang of these new techniques and my current favourite is a guy called James Vella, known hereafter as A Lily. There’s only one album around at the moment, mostly because this is really a side-project. He pays the rent- well, it probably helps a little next to some kind of day job or dreaded shift pattern, perhaps too ambitious in this post-rocknroll world (yes, the ROKNROLLDRUGSNPARTIESNGROUPIESWOOOOO reverie is just that these days. Whether it was ever anything apart from a brief glimpse at paradise for a small cluster back then is worth discussing elsewhere.) to say bills are paid by recording and touring- playing guitar in Yndi Halda.*

There are two interesting things about this album, titled Wake: Sleep. The first is the mixture of organic instrumentation like guitars, pianos and homemade percussion with the usual bleeps, swoops and gurgles that distinguish electronica from more traditional genres. The second is the concept behind it. As you’ll see in the interview (linked at the bottom), he wrote the music entirely for his girlfriend. Every note, rhythm and squelch was lovingly crafted for her enjoyment. It’s not explicit (no dirty samples, you sick perverts) when you hear it, as although a few pieces employ his hushed vocals, there is no stomach-turning narrative of how much they weally wuv eech ovah.

If you’re looking for pop hits with obnoxious noises blasted in at inappropriate moments, you’ll be disappointed, though I’d question whether you’ll find much of interest in this blog in the first place. It works best as a complete piece of music- even the extremely testing 30+ minute final track, The Shipwreck. I’ve included two tracks from the nine that Wake: Sleep offers in order to give you an idea of what to expect. As Simon sagely noted in the previous post, it’s absolutely vital that people understand how music is funded- writing, recording and especially touring require time off work and a spider’s web of payment. The proverbial fly is you, the listener/audience member. Everything worthwhile in music begins when somebody gets enthusiatic about a song, band or gig.

Sadly, as I’m increasingly finding while trying to delve further into less obvious music, it’s very difficult to get hold of this album in Britain. In fact, Amazon (never mind the High Street) don’t stock it- not even in the Marketplace! Finally, the third track is a cheeky treat discovered in a secluded corner of Myspace.

Working from a core of polished ambient moodscaping, Haskell maintains the listener’s interest by adding unpredictable sounds throughout, whether it be a music box’s chimes, the metallic swoop of an e-bow, cosmic swirls, static-laden voices emanating from short-wave radios (recorded on Mulholland Drive and at the Santa Monica pier) or a smattering of Rhodes, speaking voices, and encrusted guitar drones (“Broken Treasures”). Ambient sounds in “Shallow End” broaden out to include subtle percussive accents and e-bow, while the title cut finds the tinkle of a glockenspiel intoning the main melody amidst droning swirls and haunted presences. Though track titles such as “Drownings” and “Suicide Leap From the Hollywood Sign” don’t indicate that the album will be an exercise in life-affirming uplift, one shouldn’t read too much into titles alone, as the mood of the material is generally serenading and soothing—hardly music to slit one’s wrists by.

Tell us how this piece came about:
As a composite release – it was almost a happy accident. I’d spent a couple of months obsessisng over a couple of electronic tracks, both very process orientated, both detail intensive and both of which felt more like Math exercises than something enjoyable. On top of that, I’d also just finished some shows in Japan & Berlin and so had only played rehearsed guitar sections since the late summer. In short I hadnt had any fun with music for some time and was getting pretty claustrophobic.

How is thise piece different from your previous material?
On a complete whim I decided to record something I’d written whilst in Japan, with the intent of returning to the sketch at a later date. It proved to be an utterly cathartic process, creative decisions naturally resolving themselves rather than being a deliberated at length. This was also writing without a wider agenda – I wasnt considering context of what might surround the piece and as it naturally expanded in duration, so it was an opportunity to dabble in various rhythmical and timing areas that I might not have otherwise.  In essence, the whole piece came together very fluidly and within only a few days. Revision over the festive period allowed me to address the remaining narrative questions and in less than a month it was finished. All instruments were organic and aside from the actual recording, laptop’s were completely excluded from the process.

Christian Albrechtsen is a Danish sculptor, poet, musician and singer. I Wish All My Songs Were About The Sea can be heard as an intimate self-portrait. Albrechtsen supplies all the voices and plays all the extra instruments which range from accordion and melodika through to digital programming. Which also indicates that this is not an album built entirely on the human voice, but instrumentation really is an accompaniment here – the main event is definitely the layered voices – sampled, snippets, looped, processed and then sung over. And Albrechtsen does it with beauty and skill. The best example, for mine, is ‘Set Foot In The Corridors’ which contrasts wailing falsetto snippets with doo-wop style bass vocals under a lead vocal which is the most melodically direct of the album’s tracks. The rattling can and stuttering electronic kick pulses give it a rhythmic propulsion as well. What instrumentation is present on the album is very reminiscent of another Björk album – Homogenic. On tracks like ‘Get On Board’ and ‘I Wish All My Songs Were About The Sea’, in particular, the bit-crushed electronics and burring bass synth could have been plucked from Andy Bell outtakes from the late 90s.

Lyrically, Albrechtsen coats his poetry in numerous nautical metaphors, from the title track which uses the act of first entering cold water as an analogy for “erotic sensation”. Track titles reinforce the sea – ‘Ocean Solo’, ‘Get On Board’, ‘Your Ship Is The Prettiest’. His lyrics display a poetry that is quite captivating – “I am waving a blanket/For bugs to hide under/A surface for them to dance on/An ocean floor/For me to sail on”, from ‘Cripple’. Set, as they are, in a midst of tangle voiced interplay, the lyrics take on a life of their own, lifting them above even the quality they have on the written page.

I Wish All My Songs Were About The Sea is a beautiful, captivating album. But I am torn by the fact that the focus of inspiration is so narrow and that it so closely resembles the work from just a couple of Björk albums. As I listen, every now and then I cringe at just how close. As such, this will remain under her shadow. But I get the feeling that, for the moment, Albrechtsen is happy to be there. The skill with which he creates these songs, however, indicates that, as he matures and finds his own voice, he could be an artist to watch.

Adrian Elmer, Cyclic Defrost

—Aquarius Records, San Francisco.

What is it about the sea that brings out the intensity, passion, the weird and the wildly experimental in artists? Other nautically themed releases like Xela’s zombie-fest The Dead Sea on Type, Elegi’s Sistereis on Miasmah, Jasper TX’s I’ll be long gone before my light reaches you’ on Lampse or the lamentations of Sweet Billy Pilgrim’s ‘Twice Born Men on Samadhisound are all equally fervent experiences, and on I wish all my songs were about the sea Albrechtsen is responsible for almost every aspect of the production: from the lyrics and vocals, a miscellany of musical instruments (mostly notably accordion and melodica) and the programming right through to the creation and concept of the wave mask and samurai-like costumes seen on the cover art.

Comparisons to Björk are certainly not unfounded either as you will variously find multi-layered vocals used as instruments (strongly reminiscent of her experimental Medulla album), childlike Vespertine era music box tinkles, scratched and crackly, distorted, or wildly flailing, hyper-tense vocal solos and hailstone filled gale-force winds of furious Homogenic era Mark Bell style percussion. None of this is meant to imply that I wish all my songs were about the sea is derivative or unoriginal, merely that certain influences are easy to spot and when Albrechtsen gets the balance between vocal and lyrical quirkiness, instrumentation and post-processing just right the album flashes with brilliance.

Album opener “Unfold” throws the listener overboard straight away featuring many of these elements, but if this were a big hitting, commercial label release then an obvious single choice would be the fiercely catchy “Get on board.” This assault on the senses launches a churning assortment of distorted, close-harmony backing vocals, salty accordion and melodica melodies to get everyone on deck swaying from side to side, machine-gunned percussion that recalls Björk’s “Hunter” and by turns fey falsetto then sinister snarling vocal solos that rise to a boiling crescendo in the searing closing chorus. The title track swims in similar but less roiled waters, another Gatling gun attack of jagged percussion mixed with lo-fi organ bleeps and tinnitus fizz.

At the more melancholy (but no less intense) end of the spectrum is the romantic “Ocean Solo” that, stripped down to the basic elements of melodica, accordion and guitar, layers vocals with varying levels of reverb and echo to create a depth of field that at times feels orchestral in scope, any instrumentation present merely an artistically sprinkled seasoning atop some of the album’s most heart-string tugging vocal harmonies. The meandering “Cripple,” like much of Bjork’s Vespertine, is not immediately engaging, but give it a few moments and Albrechtsen’s accomplished and complex composition quickly takes hold. “The world is a creature” even fuses Ryuichi Sakamoto-esque glitch and flowing Mike Garson piano into the mix.

If the album has a weakness, it is that it can occasionally become a little too overblown or frenetic: “Your ship is the prettiest” is, frankly, a bit too literal and arguably slightly pretentious, “Set Foot In The Corridors” overly theatrical and shouty and “I could be alive” verges dangerously on the twee, Albrechtsen become a tad dis-inhibited in a slightly cringe-worthy folk rock style that clashes with the spirit of the rest of the album. Of course this may not matter to those with a greater appreciation for artists who let it all hang out, so to speak, but it can make for slightly uncomfortable listening from time to time.

That Christian Albrechtsen has created a remarkable album that you will either love or hate is, I suspect, no understatement, possessing as it does a raw energy, ambition and confidence that make a very bold statement. Hopefully we can look forward to hearing much more from this exceptionally gifted artist in the future.

—Igloo Magazine 2/5/2011 (James Knapman)