Francis Dhomont is Canada’s electroacoustics master. Founding member of the Canadian Electroacoustic Community (CEC), he has won many distinctions around the world (five-time winner at the Bourges International Electroacoustic Music Competition).

His new record contains only one work, Forêt profonde (Deep Forest), which runs for 58:32. Written between 1994 and 1996, it is the second part of a “Cycle of Depths,” started with Sous le regard d’un soleil noir, another recent release on empreintes DIGITALes [IMED 9633].

“Forêt profonde is an acousmatic melodrama, based on Bruno Bettelheim’s essay The Uses of Enchantment” (Francis Dhomont, liner notes). The work comprises 13 sections that alternate from instrumental to narrative phases. Texts are taken from Christian Andersen, Bruno Bettelheim, Dante, the Grimm brothers, Arturo Parra, Charles Perrault, Shakespeare, and are narrated by various voices in various languages. The constant motion created by these exchanges allow the composer to avoid monotony while creating an atmosphere both magical and disquieting. I would not hesitate to call it a CHEF D’ŒUVRE. Subtle and profound for the initiate, it remains listener-friendly for the new ears. In fact, Forêt profonde is a very good starting point for who wants to acquire a taste in the arts of electroacoustics. And if you think you do not like this kind of music, maybe this is the record that will change your mind! A serious candidate for my ‘Best Records of 1997’ list!

If ever there was an audio equivalent of a horror movie, this one’s it. Cacophonous crashes, jungle noises, water dripping in a cave, slamming boobym traps, tolling-for-thee bells, screaming machines, chattering air hammers, and René Lussier’s shrieking electric guitar: Gobeil pieces together these frightening sonic events, with occasional female narration in French, into a series of climaxes that may leave you hiding under the bed. It’s very highbrow, but much more spirited and listenable than typical academic electroacoustic stuff.

With a microphone, a computer and sophisticated software, Stéphane Roy is capable of producing worlds of sound unimaginable to the average luddite. In the tradition of Pierre Schaeffer and GRAM, this Montréal-based composer (along with other artists in that city) is devoted to electroacoustic music and what is often referred to as acousmatic sound. Compared to their American counterparts, the French (and Canadian) approach relies more on sounds recorded from the surrounding environment (rather than synthesized timbres) and the diffusion of such sounds through multiple loudspeakers. Naturally, Kaleidos is reduced down to two channels for play on the home stereo, but it isn’t difficult to imagine Roy at the mixer moving these rich and lively sounds to different sets of speakers that surround the listener. Ranging between nine and fifteen minutes in length, these pieces are the 21st century equivalent to the 19th century symphony and it is all done with recorded sounds and digital processing. You won’t hear any violins or brass instruments, although Mimetismo does use the guitar as a sound source. Spanning eight years of Stéphane’s creative output, this collection is solid proof that electronic sound is not a sterile art.

Listening to Dan Lander’s Talking to a Loudspeaker is like unwittingly tuning into someone else’s conversation and becoming so enthralled that you can’t tune out despite feeling like you shouldn’t be listening. In this case the conversation has been constructed entirely from snippets of magnetic tape containing miscellaneous bits and pieces of radio signal. The genius of the piece is that it manages to sustain such a riveting narrative despite being entirely constructed of out-of-context words and phrases — like some sort of rhetorical collage. Destroy: Information Only is a piece in a similar vein, only this time the collage is made of larger pieces — whole interviews conducted by the composer with friends and family who are asked to describe their memories of an injury he had had 20 years earlier. Again the sense of aural voyeurism is strangely addictive. Also included on Zoo are the works Failed Suicide and City Zoo / Zoo City. For anyone looking for intimate/compelling art, Zoo amply fits the bill.

Quarante ans aprés le Poème électronique d’Edgar Varèse, nombreux sont ceux qui considèrent encore les expériences sonores faites en studio comme de la musique de recherche (donc non achevée) qui n’intéresse que ceux qui s’y livrent. Il est tout de même un peu étrange qu’après quatre décennies le grand public ait si peu apprivoisé ces formes d’expression. En 1997 l’électroacoustique fait toujours peur ou suscite des réticences à tout le moins. Pourtant, là comme ailleurs, les réussites existent, les échecs aussi.

Plusieurs connaissent déjà l’existence de l’étiquette québécoise empreintes DIGITALes. Spécialisée depuis huit ans dans les enregistrements de «séquences» électroacoustiques, cette maison possède un catalogue impressionnant qui contient une quarantaine de titres. Les réalisations sonores dont il est question ici en sont quelques-unes parues ces demiers mois.

Écoloacoustique

Les frontières de l’électroacoustique n’ont jamais été très délimitées; on y met souvent ce que l’on veut, on y entend de tout. Le genre rappelle à l’occasion ce que sont devenus l’essai et le roman: des fourre-tout. Avec Hildegard Westerkamp, établie à Vancouver, il y a bien cette dimension qui rappelle le calepin de voyage où sont colligées diverses trouvailles faites au cours de ses pérégrinations. Son disque intitulé Transformations propose des évocations de la nature ainsi que des échantillons croqués sur le vif qui se rapportent au bruits urbains (A Walk Through The City). Avion, voiture, sirène, arcades, faubourgs populaires, itinerants, pollution sonore, etc. Dans les autres plages du disque, nous reconnaissons bien les vertus écologiques propres à la sensibilité des gens de l’Ouest. Traitées puis montées, les séquences de Westerkamp forment un lyrisme verdoyant. La encore, on opte pour les sons ténus: la douceur confine parfois au romantisme.