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Finders keepers
By M.P. Klier
LIKE THE BLACK
sheep of the family, music that once was lost is now a lot easier
to find. And I don't just mean that DIYers have almost as much chance
of being heard as the abominations on the American Music Awards
(new Metallica, anyone?), that tiny labels run by heightened
ears are putting out the latest and old greatest masterpieces, that
if you missed last night's show at the Hemlock Tavern or [insert
venue here], you can probably get a videotape of it (or at least
read a review at an online message board), and that your next band
practice or ephemeral field recording can be mixed into a great
symphony we can download gratis the next morning.
I mean that this minor
miracle of sonic availability, perpetuated by St. Technology, has
also unleashed a holy convergence of creative forces beyond anyone's
(save, perhaps, John Cage's?) wildest dreams. In essence, new sounds
are taking over old forms, and old sounds and instruments are being
used to create the newest of genres. Those little plastic barriers
between sections at record stores are melting, melting, you crafty
little girls and boys. And performers aren't stopping at sound,
or smoke machines, but delving further into visual arts, theater,
puppetry, you name it to put on unforgettable shows.
Surely this has been
happening all along, but doesn't it seem like lately, especially,
we're realizing how perfect "noise" can be when
heard in the (im)proper context? Not to get all "must condense
last 12 months of sonic history in one article" retrospective
on you, but this is falling under that umbrella, and I can honestly
say that whereas last year around this time, I felt underwhelmed
by the new music offerings, this year I happened upon so many interesting
crossroads that I could get happily lost for ages. How convenient,
then, that the most inspiring thicket seems to be growing right
here at home, in the wonderfully tangled San Francisco experimental
music scene.
One of the finest examples
of this convergence I've heard is Prude Juice for the Heritage
Swinger (Electro Motive/Seeland), released in November
like a gift from the magi Porest (a.k.a. Mark Gergis of Mono Pause
and Neung Phak fame). Hilarious, riveting, soothing, provocative,
historical, au courant, global, and downright danceable at times,
Prude Juice is an ingenious collage of music and vocals that
manages to capture, twist, and turn our collective sonic lives on
their head. After umpteen listens, I'm still not sure where I would
file it. Electronic details, tribal-esque drums, twangy guitars,
analog-synthesizer riffs, AM radio hosts, farm animals, eerily lifelike
automated voices, educational film soundtracks, and environmental
recordings (from the Bay Area, Detroit, South Dakota, Essaouira,
Leipzig, Berlin, Damascus, and Luang Prabang) are expertly brought
together in a way that harks back to Bongwater, Ween, Raymond Scott,
and DJ Shadow but uses completely new palettes.
Other local notables
this year are Caroliner's double LP, Wine Can't Do It, Wife Won't
Do (distributed by Subterranean), a rare meeting of 19th-
through 21st-century frontier sounds (disclosure: I was a roadie
on part of their spring tour), and John Bischoff's Aperture,
a revelation of how far classic electronic music has come. Also
Kristen Miltner's beautiful piece at the San Francisco Electronic
Music Festival.
Venturing further afield,
I was lucky enough to hear the new noises coming from Los Angeles's
Rick Potts, Denver's Friends Forever, Chicago's My Name Is Rar Rar,
Ann Arbor's Wolf Eyes (whom I had the pleasure of seeing many nights
in a row and am convinced are the next Nirvana), and England's Broadcast.
And traveling back further in time, I was completely transported
by the Bay Area's Hub, Oklahoma's Speedy West (R.I.P.), wherever-you-are's
Kristin Hersh, France's Alain de Filippis and Pierre Henry, Austria's
Hermann Nitsch, and the Netherlands' Jan Boerman.
That so many more of
us are finding the visions of wayward, grassroots-eating, costume-wearing
free-range musicians more fulfilling than those of the commercial
studios', tens-of-thousands-of-dollars-a-dozen, E-Z cheese,
navel-baring stars says volumes. Volumes more than I can get into
here. I'll end with this pithy ode to glee: our canon is rock solid,
our technology expert and expanding, and our instincts good. If
you record and compose it well, no matter how seemingly bizarre
or experimental, we may come to appreciate it. It could take years
or, the way things seem to be moving at warp speed lately, it could
be months. All the more reason to mix down your wildest dreams.
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last month's noise.
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