This second installation in eminent sound-sculptor Tod
Dockstader’s ode to the short-wave radio is a
furtherance of the ill-omened aura that pervaded the
swooning electronic squalls, serrated harmonics and
mangled frequency modulations of the previous document.
While that effort explored overtones and dynamics through
faint striations of the distressed drones, this second
edition - consisting of twenty-one segments which blur
into one another and unravel as one hour-long piece
- is far more active, upfront, and demanding.
The presence of Dockstader, which previously loomed
ominously overtop his creation, scarcely noticeable,
content to make minute adjustments, is now thoroughly
embedded in these rhythmic and pulsing currents. In
this sense, although his presence is obvious, it remains
nevertheless difficult to pinpoint or tie-down at any
particular point. Instead, speaking to the mystical
aura that drifts about these works, Dockstader’s
self or presence is not enclosed, but is out there in
the world to such an extent that it is no longer a question
of where the source sounds leave off and Dockstader’s
manipulation begins, as they have in these recordings
essentially coalesced into one.
What impresses most, however, is just how tangible these
high-end frequency densities and epileptic microsounds
become. The droves of quivering tones vibrate at such
a pace and take on such an oppressive density that they
quickly cut a very real, dominant figure, sounding as
though they were ghosts vigorously trying to communicate.
The middle section slowly takes on more sparse, amorphous
structures, suggestive perhaps of the realms the next
and final volume of this series will explore. For the
moment, they act as places of punctuation and rest,
saving the onlooker from one uninterrupted march, and
enabling them to assess what they have passed through
while also branching out and fully taking in the more
subtle elements that had previously been all but buried
in the background. Still, this second half has an affinity
for the first - it maintains its gloomy, spectral chill
- but the motifs have changed, and only Dockstader’s
presence remains, tremulous and irresolute, caressing
the taped material with faithful delicateness and monastical
feeling.
Max Schaefer
4.5/5 |
