redwoods interpretivedimuzio wobbly courtis
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reviewsThe five cuts are glorious abstractions. Dimuzio’s modular synth spirals, Courtis’s slithering guitar and Leidecker's voluminous electronics build and destroy nocturnal atmospheres, while glowing eyes hide in the shadow of each expression. The Wire A trio of true experts on these tracks, Dimuzio – Wobbly – Courtis delve into bizarre bewildering territory with Redwoods Interpretive. Beachsloth Each listen so far has revealed new details, like a good trip should. Boring Like A Drill The Wire Unlike his distanced work with Neville, Redwoods Interpretive contains music Courtis played in the flesh with local artists Thomas Dimuzio and Jon Leidecker (aka Wobbly) during a 2019 visit to San Francisco. Recording over a span of 48 hours in DImuzio’s Gench studio and on air for Negativland’s fabled Over The Edge radio programmme (today run by Robert Cole and Leidecker) the album is inspired by Humboldt redwoods park’s mystical atmosphere, even if the musicians never actually got to visit the woods. Rather, Redwoods is an exercise in imagining what could have been. The five cuts are glorious abstractions. Dimuzio’s modular synth spirals, Courtis’s slithering guitar and Leidecker's voluminous electronics build and destroy nocturnal atmospheres, while glowing eyes hide in the shadow of each expression. At times Dimuzio’s pulsing phrases flee to the ether and intrigue some curious animal, only for them to respond with accumulating and collapsing buzzes, sacral organ reverberations, frightened bass whispers and stray shortwave bricolage. It all leads to a mantra, before disappearing into a noisy night. —Antonio Poscic/The Wire Beachsloth A trio of true experts on these tracks, Dimuzio – Wobbly – Courtis delve into bizarre bewildering territory with “Redwoods Interpretive”. Everything about the sound exists in a state of flux. Nothing lasts too long. Textural elements are of the essence for it all seemingly bursts at the seams. Within this chaotic universe they make sure to play off each other’s strengths. Quite interesting as an undertaking, it has a neat Fenn O’Berg aspect to it, except perhaps a tad more playful. By allowing the sounds plenty of room to roam, with a number of these tracks clocking in at extensive lengths, they bring a degree of futuristic psychedelic into the proceedings. “Redwoods Interpretive” revels in exquisite levels of detail, for Dimuzio – Wobbly – Courtis craft a universe of sounds that talk amongst themselves, and we are fortunate enough to hear it. Boring LIke A Drill The other new release is Dimuzio / Wobbly / Courtis’s Redwoods Interpretive, which I think comes out this week. It’s a jam-packed little LP which throws together Alan Courtis‘ electric guitar with Thomas Dimuzio’s synths and samplers and Jon Leidecker’s digital doohickeys, all soaked in electronic weirdness. It opens with a succinct burst of abused amplifier fuckery that gets played out into a psychedelic vignette. This punk/prog crossover sets the queasy tone for the rest of the album, a phantasmagoria of electronic genres which morph and bleed from one cultural reference into another. The prevailing mood is that of one of the more outlying examples of 1970s German soundtrack album, but that in itself is a reflection of its eclecticism and otherworldliness. Guitar, modular synth and MIDI controlled devices ping-pong sounds back and forth over distorted loops of electronic chatter. Another three tracks each carve out a strange imaginary landscape, before the side-long ‘Old Man of the North’ blurs them all together. Starting out sounding like a desultory duet of detuned Fender Rhodes and shortwave, things steadily pick up until treated sounds are happily echoed and flanged in the best UFO epic style and then get whipped up into a densely analog-sounding morass before curdling into sour drones, finally resolving into something recalling a… church organ? It doesn’t make sense when you hear it either, which is the fun of it. Each listen so far has revealed new details, like a good trip should.—Ben H. |