Loopable Experience

Story’s blips and tones usher you forth upon entry. It feels like a post-show vibe session with a group of tech-heads taking turns sharing tunes. Each speaker displays sounds you swear you recognize while simultaneously feeling fresh and exciting. The installation is a cacophony of smaller songs easing in and out as one edge of the 8-sided circle. At times it is a communication between two sounds. Other times it is a duet between you and a single emitted noise. And further into the experience, it becomes a dance between you and other spectators as you weave in and out of the physical boundaries of the environment.

Though the audio of the sound installation does indeed loop (I was told the album consisted of about an hour of looped audio), the placement of the spectator changes these loops for each listening session. I first found myself wandering around the space, wanting to experience every position or perspective I could think of to fully understand the piece. I stood next to active speakers, listening to sheets of metal produce horn-like washes. I tuned into speakers not playing any noise at times for a bubble of calm between two whirs of electronica. I crouched and laid down to get a sense of the verticality of auditory sensation. I stood outside the ring of speakers to observe the blending of lights and colors along the walls. I played with shadows. I sat and watched how other spectators were interacting and responding with the piece.

I noticed other listeners who couldn’t sit still. Folks who gravitated towards a specific corner of the stage. The occasional glance and whispers of contact. These loops of interaction I found embedded within the soundstage as well as the physical environment of the install. Audio feedback, bleeps, and bloops all shaped the peppered pulsing of the beat over washes of sound. Springs of textured tones influenced feedback between spectators as their bodies created washes of color. I felt the need to close my eyes at points and just experience the piece with my body. Allowing legs, feet, arms, shoulders, head to all follow along with the rhythms. You name it, it grooved. And as soon as Elbow 1 entered the stage, you know my elbow felt the need to respond.

I was also surprised by how much info a merch table can give you about an artist. Maybe the groovy album art resonates with your aesthetic; Perhaps past collabs with audio authors you’ve been listening to for years; or the staff helping run the merch. I commend everyone who had a hand in helping put this installation together and for how welcoming and informative the merch lobby came to be. It acted as a fantastic introductory space not only to the exhibit but as a fun info booth regarding the legacy of Story. I, as a relative newcomer to the world of Story, greatly appreciate this inclusion of clearly passionate staff. Bravo good chaps!

Reflections

I was also able to sit in on the discussion and reflection panel Friday evening (led by the lovely Lauren Lessing) which provided insight into Story’s workflow and intentions. Being that this was paying clear homage to the late Dieter Moebius, it drew sound recordings directly from his backlog. Story explained how he placed himself in the ‘Moebius Mindset’ through converging unorthodox sounds or unremarkable noises with underlying rhythmic beats. How unorthodox and unremarkable you ask? There was a playful anecdote regarding Moebi arriving at Story’s house many moons ago to record a squeaky door for a piece. This became a melodic aspect of an album which a listener later experienced as a soothing saxophone. What was once simple foley now paints melodic symphonies and interesting tonalities, a splendid capture of Moebius’ thought process.

When asked how he reads an audience, Story said he rarely gets the opportunity to witness live interactions with his pieces. The majority of his previous audience engagements were from folks explaining how their relationship with a piece had changed over time. His work is a literal auditory amalgamation of loops as well as a cycle of listener perception as they re-experience it. It is a piece changed by outside experiences and perspective. Story has become increasingly aware of this symbiotic relationship between listener and source media, articulating how particular emotional textures resonate with different folks at specific moments in their life. The idea of sound developing new meanings throughout an individual’s life creates a fascinating, dynamic, and living relationship with loopable media.

When prompted on his typical workflow and how the pandemic has changed the process, Tim said he’s been privileged in that regard. Most of his time spent noodling and crafting sounds is usually been in isolation. Sending files back and forth every so often for collabs when not in-person has been something he’s done for a while. He’s cognizant of how ambient music doesn’t necessarily rely on live audience engagement. This has allowed him to continue working in a very similar fashion, sometimes spending months on individual works to get the feel just right. One thing that drives Tim is his personal interest in the piece and whether it can hold his interest for more than a few days. As for what’s next in Tim’s Story, readers and listeners should gear up for an upcoming piano collab with Roedelius.

You can find Tim’s music over on his site!

The post Moebius Strips and Subsequent Reflections appeared first on KRUI Radio.

It’s certainly hard to ignore the buzz surrounding Tame Impala’s first album in five years. Pitchfork hailed it “the work of a true perfectionist.” Consequence of Sound called it “a beautiful collage.” Our own KRUI gave it a 9/10. 

So, it came as a surprise to me when, as I sat listening to its 57-minute runtime, three things happened:

1) I completely forgot what song I was on.

2) I had to start songs over because I zoned out or completely forgot the essence behind the track.

3) I got bored. 

That’s not to say that no praise is warranted towards The Slow Rush—each song features lush production and contributes to a consistent soundscape throughout. The grandiosity presented in each composition’s countless layers is impressive, especially when imagining Parker lovingly crafting each atmospheric soundbite as vocalist, songwriter, producer, and mixer primarily in his home studio. Consistent with Parker’s previous projects under the Tame Impala name, the passion is deeply felt; the creator’s intent and grit to fully immerse the listener in Tame Impala’s glossy packaging is commendable.

Although buzzwords like atmospheric and sound consistency are important for an album’s durability, it’s easy to take the same aspirations too far. Past Tame Impala albums Lonerism and Currents effortlessly plunged the listener into a unique world of psychedelia from beginning to end. And while The Slow Rush checks off these boxes, it feels like overkill with an album where song titles feel gratuitous; the tracklist, ranging from three to seven minutes, melt together. That’s not to say that every masterful album needs stand-out tracks—there are plenty of albums that need to be taken in as a whole for true appraisal. That approach, however, becomes dangerous when tracks blend together to such an extent that the music itself fades into the background. 

To really understand where any amount of disappointment comes from upon the release of such a long-awaited album, it’s important to look at previous Tame Impala efforts. Lonerism and InnerSpeaker showcase Tame Impala at its purest—a pursuit to recreate the psychedelic sound of the 60s and the 70s while using the newest technology to do so. The idea of taking an often-overlooked but influential genre of the past while putting an authentic spin on it made both albums incredibly enjoyable from a listener standpoint, as each track strove for peak quirk. Each track from Tame Impala’s sound circa 2010 and 2012 could easily nestle between misfit tracks like “Sun King” and “Mean Mr. Mustard” off of the Beatles’ otherwise commercial Abbey Road without any objection. 

Then came 2015’s Currents, signaling Tame Impala’s rise into mainstream, debuting at number four on US Billboard charts. The buzz and overall success of the album can be attributed to Parker’s transition to a more dance-infused ambiance over psychedelic rock. Although not as musically exciting as past releases, with the album teetering into monotonous territory, Currents was still ripe with the unexpected. In its opening track, “Let It Happen,” the underlying beat propelling the nearly eight-minute track along feels as if the listener owns a skipping CD. As the beat continues pulsing, stuck on a loop, rich orchestration sweeps through, overtaking the song in a surprising, magical direction at the halfway mark. The beat is still stuck, cursed to forever repeat, but it doesn’t matter—the track just entered a cosmic realm. 

Five years later,  The Slow Rush enters the conversation. The problem? It can’t contribute to any conversation when it fundamentally has nothing to say. It doesn’t have any fresh takes on a musical niche. It doesn’t have any soaring moments. All that’s left is an unconvincing, muted atmosphere. 

And that truly is all that this Tame Impala album has: atmosphere. It’s a type of atmosphere that distracting to the point that you can reach a track’s end and entirely forget how it began. The Slow Rush’s atmosphere is distracting for good reason—if it’s stripped away, what remains are shallow lyrics. In one of the most baffling lyrical choices that contributes to the album’s monotony, ALL 12 songs center around Parker asking questions. The line of questioning that each song’s message revolves around feels dangerously reminiscent of a teenager insecure after a rejection. Compiled below is just a short sample of the kind of questions that could easily be found on that same lovesick teenager’s phone:

• “Will I be known and loved? / Is there one that I trust?” (Borderline)
• “So why do I go wrong on repeat? “ (Tomorrow’s Dust)
• “Does it help to get lost in yesterday?… So what was I afraid of? Why did I worry?” (Lost in Yesterday)
• “Was I being immature?” (Is it True)
• “How could I love again? / How could I ever ask for more?” (One More Hour)

The questioning Parker uses so predominantly only fuels the repetitive and uninspired nature of almost every track’s content—the only exception being “Posthumous Forgiveness” where Tame Impala’s lyrics shine and glisten under the backdrop of Parker’s relationship with his deceased father. The lyrics here feel authentic compared to the rest of the album, coming from an emotional depth that Parker hesitantly reveals: “Wanna tell you ‘bout my life / Wanna play you all my songs / And hear your voice sing along.” Without the breathless honesty of “Posthumous Forgiveness,” the lyrics are forgettable and contribute to the album’s drag. 

From Parker’s writing, it’s apparent that he still holds the Beatles in high regard, as he references both Abbey Road and Abbey Road track “Here Comes the Sun” in different tracks. When Tame Impala alludes to “The Fab Four,” however, one wishes that he would deftly inject that psychedelic Beatlesque energy from previous releases, rather than existing as simplistic allusions on an album that exudes “department store playlist” energy instead. 

The post Album Review: “The Slow Rush” by Tame Impala appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Contrary to a traditional performance, vacant auditorium seats were silent spectators to the real audience onstage. The stage became filled with audience members—participants and yogis game for a unique hour of meditation. 

As the lights dimmed, a local yoga instructor addressed an eager group: “If you’re someone who usually closes your eyes during yoga, maybe keep your eyes half-closed and let some of the visuals in.” The visuals in question were trippy animations with a cast of rich, colorful characters. Each participant had front row viewing to mind-bending graphics that experimented with movement, shapes, and visually stunning color schemes.

The audience members lunged in unison, hands reaching towards castles, constellations, and clouds. The visuals crafted a narrative surrounding the relationship of a horse and a small child as well as three half-otherworldly, half-human figures manipulating elements of water, fire, and earth. It is nearly impossible to fully make sense of the projections, but, ultimately, trying to interpret the dream-like storytelling would take away from the wonder it is meant to create, fully in line with the yoga mentality. As cities were rapidly built up, only to crumble to ash onscreen, the yogis rose to Mountain Pose and fell to Downward Dog.

The visual landscape was artfully complemented by the ambiance provided by Naioti and Steir as they stoically control the atmosphere of the space standing at their respective synthesizers. The audio rose and fell with waves of abstract synth tones and wordless vocalizations, along with brief spurts of sounds reminiscent of rainfall and chirping crickets. Both artists felt like they were in conversation with each other as the audio became progressively more layered, providing a calm and meditative space. Halfway through the event, Naioti quietly picked up a guitar, incorporating sporadic bursts of strumming that added additional texture to the audio tapestry the pair have weaved. The guitar is then passed off to Stier, adding contributions to the ongoing musical tone—the audience member truly felt as if they were witnessing the duo in their offbeat laboratory, experimenting and building off of their findings. 

Naioti and Steir brought a delicate and creative partnership, fusing ambient and psychedelic elements from their collective musical experience. Hailing from Des Moines, Iowa, Ryan Stier provided vocals and instrumentation for folk-pop band The River Monks, indie rock group Annalibera and, most recently, psychedelic rock project Extravision. Naioti, a native of Fairfield, Iowa, released I’m On Your Side earlier this year—blending aspects of folk and electronic music with authentic, raw lyrics. Naioti also developed a 40-minute ambient music piece entitled Watery Grave that provides a general idea of the atmosphere created for the Dimensions experience. The album’s description astutely explains the power surrounding the transportive atmospheric music Naioti and Steir crafted during the yoga event, “Structure and familiarity lost ground to the abstract’s ability to express the things we experience but words fall short of describing.”

Indeed, no words were necessary here as the audio creation effectively filled the room, only accompanied by the exaggerated exhales and inhales from the crowd. The yoga instructor gently instructed the audience to stay meditative and guided the audience throughout.

Eventually, each participant finds themselves in Corpse Pose—fully lying down, eyes towards the ceiling—the auditorium lights slowly begin to rise while the final notes of synths are isolated, echoing and dying out. As the crowd slowly snaps out of their meditative daze, each member reluctantly starts gathering their belongings and rolling up their yoga mat. Someone enthusiastically exclaims, “This should be a thing all the time.” She receives warm indications of agreement, seemingly voicing the collective group’s opinion. The participants linger a while longer before they ultimately step out into the streets of Iowa City—chaotic in comparison to Naioti and Stier’s loving constructed world.

The post Dimensions @ Englert Theatre 11/2/19 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

On Tuesday night, Gabe’s played host to a trio of electronic and experimental musicians for the first night of Mission Creek shows. Countless beards were present.

Local musician Brendan Hanks kept the show’s first hour light with a string of bass-heavy, danceable tracks. An initial scattering of neck-bearded, middle aged men quickly diversified as the infectious beats lured in a larger crowd, with Hanks and his laptop pulsating at the center.

Hanks, a 31-year-old sporting neatly-trimmed stubble, has been playing with digital noise for well over five years.

“My music grew out of a failure of trying to start a band,” Hanks said before the show. “I was okay at guitar but I could never find a drummer. I started looking into electronic drums, and I really got into Nine Inch Nails…it kind of spiraled from there.”

He describes the Mission Creek gig as a comeback.

“I used to do stuff as Ex-Action Model. A few years ago I was more active than I am now, but I’ve got some ideas for a release later this year.”

John Bohannon took the floor as Ancient Ocean shortly after 9:00 pm.

The moderately-bearded Brooklyn musician’s extensive lineup of effects pedals showcased his talent at creating droning, spine-tingling soundscapes, bringing to mind strange creatures and primitive waters when coupled with his stage name. The crowd coasted along on shimmering guitar crescendos and otherworldly, but relatively-peaceful, vibes.

Then Ben Frost and his wild Australian beard took the stage.

Frost’s opening salvo sounded something like an electric guitar being thrown into a herd of angry elephants. The second floor of Gabe’s became a digital cradle, riding shockwaves of destructive bass and clanging scrap metal (metaphors hyperbolic, yet perfectly accurate).

Lighter gasps of electronic noise provided the occasional breath of fresh air, but dark vibrations ruled the night. Animalistic growls burst out unexpectedly toward the end of the set, causing many fans to recoil visibly before regaining position (direct description from my notebook: “audience shredded by tigers. Fused back together like Frankenstein’s monster”).

This show, like all others on Ben Frost’s current tour, was a complete performance of his 2014 album Aurora.

The music may conjure any number of mental images or themes, but after the show, Frost insisted that “there is no correct answer. I don’t want to dictate what people hear.”

“When you put something out, it’s not really yours anymore,” he said. “But that’s the beauty of it. Creating music is a job like anything else, and letting your listeners decide what they’re hearing is a beautiful thing.”

Frost has toured the United States before, but Mission Creek was his first show in Iowa City.

“Your bookstores are incredible,” he said. “You often hear things about certain cities that are greatly exaggerated, but not this city. It’s a very literary place and I’ll definitely be taking some extra cargo home with me.”

One last, unexpected artistic connection surfaced as Frost packed up his gear.

“The highlight of my career is when Eric Wareheim came to one of my shows in LA and we hung out together,” he said. “By far one of the largest influences on my work is the art of Tim and Eric.”

Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim are a comedy duo known for their Adult Swim productions and nightmarishly off-kilter video aesthetic. Wareheim, often seen with a shapely beard, has become an acclaimed music video director in recent years, having worked with artists including MGMT, Major Lazer, Charlie XCX, and Beach House.

“Eric told me he’s going to do a video for my next album,” Frost said. And perhaps with tongue slightly in cheek: “It’s a certainty. He has no choice.”

You heard it here first.

Check out Brendan Hanks and Ancient Ocean on Soundcloud. You can grab Ben Frost’s Aurora on iTunes. Here’s “Venter,” the sixth track on the album.

Keep it on KRUI 89.7FM for all of your Mission Creek coverage this week!

The post Mission Creek: Ben Frost @ Gabe’s 3/31/15 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Being lost in an endless landscape of sound is not something that happens often, and when it does, it begs attention and drives an intense focus on the present moment. This is something that both Philip Glass and Oneohtrix Point Never have acquired: a foreign sonic atmosphere.

Oneohtrix Point Never immediately conquered the stage with his unrelenting electronic vibe. His deep bass and repeating tonal patterns slowly pushed the mind into a relapse of personal memory. The ambient crackles that began his concert faded into omniscient voices, doubling in complexity as more sounds compiled into a never-ending supply of tonal forms. This particle field, dense and cloud-like, dissipated into dark pulsars of energy, and shook the human cerebral fabrication until the aura pronounced a pleasantly neoteric landscape. This solitary assessment of physical and auditory senses is truly something that must be experienced.

The universe of resonation that Oneohtrix Point Never creates is absolute and limitless. Almost so much so that it seems like mental preparation is a necessity for his vast and objective realm. His music seems to stem from another world, another beautiful unseen world. He often throws the listener into another dimension, but is gracious enough to allow a peaceful and grounding exit from each domain.

The crowd, at the peak of sonic disambiguation, would shout as if to affirm this sensorial plane. Something real was being created. The orbit of sonic wavelengths, parallel to our existence, would formulate into a triage of sound, constantly increasing in depth. The monumental concepts being portrayed only get more intense as you focus into the menagerie of inflections and nuanced reverberations. This alien expanse sometimes ended at the blink of an eye, along with all sound, and other times, it was slowly lost to silence. His music speaks in multiplicity. The colossal structures Oneohtrix Point Never creates are inarguably epic. He is nothing less than a prodigy of ambience and eclecticism.

Philip Glass, a man whose work has been shaped through decades of experience, considers himself a classicist. Using only a grand piano, he evolves his work through the repetition of sound, striking keys lightly, again and again until the air is filled with delicate structures. These elegant qualities created a polyphonic tone in which his graceful motion and careful surveillance of the keys added to the story of his sound.

Glass seemed timid at times, and would then erupt into an intense set of married pitches. His notes orchestrate a quintessential tale of emotion, often surprising the audience with a low tone or chord, and his quick movements across the piano. When the listener accepts these surprises, they become tame and pleasant. Conflict often arises between notes, symbolizing a higher struggle, a complex melancholia, only to reach an inevitable and charitable resolution. Glass makes it look simple. His movements narrate a life full of sentiment and unexpected sensation, which seems to cleanse consciousness, if only for a brief moment.

His advantageous continuity and adverse progression is worth recognition alone. Glass often settles into a few keys, experimenting with their sound, and when he finally hears what he has been waiting for, he moves on. It is a constant correspondence. His pieces are specific in this nature, yet they seem infinite in their expansion. Glass’s grandiose visions are wondrous and spectacular, depicting the patterns and feelings of everyday life, while still achieving a sense of timeless beauty.

Both of these artists force introspection and narrate the present moment into a reflection of associations only actualized by a listener’s intrinsic experience. They created a sonic aesthetic, which guiding the crowd through a journey of god-like spendor. Their ideal nature and boundless soundscape showed the listener the wonder and mystery of experience, and life altogether.

The post Mission Creek: Philip Glass and Oneohtrix Point Never @ The Englert 4/3/14 appeared first on KRUI Radio.