Here’s an unusually packaged CD, wrapped in layers of entangled card inlays. Pulled apart, they reveal an outer card slipcase, an inner card inlay — both covered in texts and largely abstract imagery — and an odd little piece of card that holds the CD itself. The texts reveal recording details, as well as annotating the pieces themselves, of which there are five. The tracks, all recorded between 2008 and 2012, vary in length from around twelve minutes to over twenty. All five are rigorous, ‘hard-boiled’ electroacoustic works.

I’m not going to pretend to remotely encapsulate what goes in Morphogenèse; given the lengths of the individual pieces, and the sheer amount packed into them, I will instead offer up some highlights and more general thoughts. As I said above, the album compiles five serious electroacoustic works, constantly shifting and developing. The first track, Catabolisms, doesn’t start off too staggeringly; however, before long, it establishes a very nice drone. This disappears into a section that sounds simultaneously like a sci-fi spaceship, and something more organic — rocks and water. The sci-fi atmosphere is also found in the ominous drones that underpin some of the tracks, as well as the ‘digital’ feel that pervades most of the album. Later, near the close of the track, the sounds quickly combust/rot to a deathly hush — it’s a really nice transition between sections. Latitudes, the second piece, is perhaps best represented by the snaking, strained, whistling drone that dominates the early sections. The next track, Lucent Voids, begins with a soundscape that seems to summon water movements and bird-song, before adding bell-like sounds and hard, spacey tones. After the 16-minute mark, there’s a sudden, outbreak of near-melodicism, with a section that lurches like court music from some alien civilisation. In the context of the album as a whole, this is quite a startling moment for the ear, and all the better for it. The fourth piece, Cataract, is perhaps more low-key, less showy in tone than it’s previous counterparts, often burbling along quite quietly. Though there are still points of darkness and near-whiteout. Far-from-equilibrium, the final piece (and oldest), might be my favourite track on Morphogenèse. It seems to carry a more visceral, even aggressive, selection of sounds than the other pieces. It also has sounds that are much less processed, even near-raw, and these add great colour in terms of texture and movement. There are some fantastic moments where Nyström pulls sounds inside out, tearing and straining them — it’s compelling and beautiful.

Like I said above, Morphogenèse is not a release suited to a short review — it’s arguably not really an album that I’m overly ‘qualified’ to give much insight to, given it’s clear academic designs. However, there is a wealth of material here to digest and peruse, all of which demands close listening. I’ll admit that the prevailing ‘digital’ feel to the sounds is not to my particular tastes, but Far-from-equilibrium, where this effect is less pronounced, more than makes up for this. This was very enjoyable, and the kind of album that will always reward another listen.

If ‘music is organised sound’, then this new album by Jonty Harrison is far more than a collection of seemingly unrelated field-recordings. It is a composition (or two, actually) in its own right, created by selecting sounds from a variety of locations, spaces, places, scenes and vistas ‘which we may or may not have experienced, but which we somehow recognise’.

The first piece of this acousmatic electroacoustic collection, Espaces cachés, is a 14-minute ambisonic trip created from the original 30-track commission from Maison des arts sonores.

The second piece, called Going / Places is a one hour journey divided into 23 parts. The recordings come from all over the world and are often combined in such a way that they could never have existed on one location simultaneously.

The scenes, ‘one implying imminent motion, the other more restful and tranquil’, take you all over the world — unpredictably jumping between Europe, Iceland, Australia, North America, North Africa and parts of Asia.

“Sounds reach us as they would in everyday life, as if we were ‘there’: from multiple locations in different positions and at different heights and distances. In this sense we are closer to reality; but even the bounds of reality can be stretched by the agencies of motion and memory — unreality, surreality and hyper-reality are but steps along the route that can be taken by the imagination…”

Save yourself an expensive holiday this year: buy this album, put on a quality headphone, close your eyes — and let professor Jonty Harrison guide you to some unexpected corners.

Zaglądamy do katalogu kanadyjskiego labelu empreintes DIGITALes, gdzie ukazał się nowy album szwedzkiego kompozytora Åke Parmeruda.

W 2014 roku pisałem o zupełnie innym wydawnictwie z tej wytwórni, a dokładnie o płycie Davida Berezana — Allusions sonores. Należy dodać, że firma empreintes DIGITALes powstała w 1990 roku w Montréalu i jest jedną z najważniejszych oficyn na świecie, która specjalizuje się w promowaniu muzyki elektroakustycznej i akuzmatycznej.

Åke Parmerud tworzy muzykę eksperymentalną od końca lat 70. oraz porusza się w świecie sztuki multimedialnej, teatru, filmu i tańca. Choć początkowo kształcił się w kierunku fotografii (1972-74). Jednak później ukończył Konserwatorium Muzyczne w Göteborgu. Od wielu lat kreuje wszelkiego rodzaju interaktywne instalacje wideo, a także wchodzi w skład Szwedzkiej Królewskiej Akademii Muzycznej.

15 maja Parmerud opublikował swój trzeci solowy krążek, pt. Nécropolis, będący zbiorem akuzmatycznych kompozycji z lat 2005-2011. Na stronie empreintes DIGITALes można posłuchać fragmentów tego albumu.

Een blinde dromer en de stad van de doden; een land van glas en stemmen zonder context — het zijn de decorstukken en instrumenten waarmee de Zweedse elektroakoestische componist Åke Parmerud een viertal werken optrekt die zowel schatplichtig zijn aan Bernard Parmegiani als aan Olivier Messiaen.

Parmerud werkt site specific in geluid. Dat wil zeggen: zijn composities onderzoeken de klank van een plek uitentreuren. Details komen daarbij niet zelden onvermoed voor het voetlicht; ook de toonzettingen van de randen van het werkveld, vaak nauwelijks hoorbaar, of pas in botsing met andere geluiden, worden bestudeerd. En met dat laatste onderscheidt Parmerud zich nadrukkelijk van vele collega’s: hij schetst niet, verkent niet, scheert niet langs. De Zweed pakt beet, zoomt in en luistert grondig.

De droom in de duisternis zit vol slaande deuren, lekkende kranen en kwinkelerende belletjes. De droom van een blinde man, inderdaad. En dat zou een ongemakkelijke litanie aan geluidjes kunnen zijn of juist een steriele staalkaart. Bij Parmerud krijgt juist het droomdeel van het stuk alle poëtische ruimte en zit je op het puntje van de stoel; vooral na een bijna stil deel middenin, waarna suggestie de overhand krijgt.

Parmerud ontlokt aan glas een intens spel met drone en kwetterende stemmen. Die laatste komen versneden terug in een compositie die zich als polyglot laat kennen. Of beter: die schier onmogelijk te vatten is; als een toren van Babel in muziek waar betekenis van woorden wordt losgelaten en de kenmerkende uitspraakeigenschappen van vele talen in een bijna gedecomponeerd werk als het ware explosief van elkaar wegschieten.

Muziek, herinnering, reflecties van de natuur in de concertzaal, im- en expressie, constructie versus deconstructies en dan vooral de ruimte die daartussen zou kunnen liggen, met of zonder context: Åke Parmerud deelt op in stukjes, legt die stuk voor stuk onder vergrootglas en microscoop en juist daardoor wijst hij de luisteraar op wat er in het rumoer van een drukke kroeg, het gekakel in een treinstation en overal eigenlijk te horen is, als je maar even net iets anders zou opletten.

With true 360° music – a step up from your surround sound hi-fi – you have no choice but to accept sound on its own terms. Sonic textures emerge from the front or approach from one side and then dance around the room, before dissipating or mutating into another sound behind you.

Last month Sheff Uni presented four free concerts showcasing the medium. On Saturday 14 May I caught a programme by Swedish composer Åke Parmerud, who oversaw the performance from a laptop in the middle of the audience. Parmerud’s first piece, Crystal Counterpoint, was centred around glassy high-pitched sounds, capturing the sub-audible essence of a dinner party. Freed from the constraints of rhythm, he could stretch his tones like elastic or speed them up to exponentially escalating tempos, recreating the sound of a spinning pound coin just before it falls flat on its side.

Grooves seemed to explore textures and materials, specifically what you would hear if someone put a paper bag over your head. Growl!, the most playful piece by Parmerud, apparently sampled a Norwegian black metal vocalist, extracted from the source material and chopped up until his yelps and blood-curdling howls echoed around the head like a bad trip.

After the interval came music that could have been a foley sound track from a Transformers film, all power-up wooshes and metallic clangs. Eventually, a chugging four-four kick emerged from the menacing abstraction and suddenly we could have been in Tresor.

Sunday’s program was subtler, but some pieces still surprised. James Surgenor’s Twist and Turn took us through a rainforest before ushering us into a celestial clearing, while Overture by Alejandro Albornoz seemed to ask the audience if they could differentiate real human voices from electronic approximations, a line that became increasingly blurred as the piece progressed. The première of Ceramos by Chris Bevan brought things to a dramatic close, with sudden crescendos that turned Firth Hall into a cathedral.

Βετεράνος συνθέτης της ηλεκτροακουστικής και ακουσματικής μουσικής, ο 90χρονος Francis Dhomont, δημιουργεί ένα έργο με αποσπάσματα από γραπτά του Κάφκα, ονόματι Le cri du Choucas. Τρίτο και τελευταίο μέρος της δουλειάς του — Cycle des profondeurs — για τον Τσέχο συγγραφέα, ο Dhomont χρησιμοποιεί τα κείμενα με ψυχαναλυτικές και συμβολικές διαθέσεις με την παραμορφωμένη φωνή του αφηγητή να συνοδεύεται από μουσικές — από συμβατικά όργανα, φωνές, ηχητικά εφέ, field recordings, ηλεκτρονικά δημιουργημένους ήχους και ακουστικό υλικό παραποιημένο από προτσέσορες — σε μια νουάρ καφκική ατμόσφαιρα.