Nicholson Baker’s book Double Fold, published
in 2001, documents the systematic destruction of printed
publications by libraries all over the world and the
replacement of paper as a medium by microfilms and hard
disks. It seems therefore logical that Robin Rimbaud,
a man whose work is mostly based on capturing environmental
sounds and noises in order to document, in some ways,
modern life, should based one of his records on Baker’s
book. Both are concerned with preservation of our collective
memory and its just celebration. That Rimbaud adopts
for the occasion a slightly unusual musical form is
not fortuitous either. Double Fold is surprisingly
straightforward and mono-dimensional, with flavours
of techno and dub crossing the spectrum at regular interval.
Although composed of eight distinct tracks, this album
actually appears as one long track that changes focus
and atmosphere at specific moments, yet remains set
to 128 bpm, as to highlight the inexorable passing of
time. Recorded entirely from sounds sourced from tapes
recorded between 1980 and 2002, this album is even more,
in concept at least, a preservation enterprise than
any of Scanner’s previous records. Yet, by digging
into his own analogue sonic archives and digitalising
sounds sources, Rimbaud stresses the contradictory necessity
to transfer to more durable form, to preserve.
Double Fold is likely to disconcert due to
its apparent lack of complexity. The permanent linear
beat is the driving force behind this record, and at
times, tends to obliterate other sonic layers. This
is no coincidence though. By applying such process,
Rimbaud reflects on time and the irreversibility of
things. Beyond the concept, this album, which shows
some similitude with the likes of Monolake or, to a
lesser extend, Pole,
offers some interesting nuances and variations, from
the breezy ambience of the title track, which opens
the album, or Microfiche to the monolithic
appearance of Ignition Zinc Oxide to the atmospheric
The Size Of Thoughts.
Rimbaud creates with Double Fold an overall
remarkably contrasted soundtrack and appears at ease
in an unusual sonic territory. This album however leaves
the listener wondering about the contradiction between
Scanner’s adopted approach and Baker’s purpose.
By using digitised versions of his analogue recordings,
Rimbaud twists the very essence of the idea. Wouldn’t
it have been a more accurate and powerful statement
to present these original recordings straight onto digital
CD without intermediary process?
4.2/5 |
