Not sure what all this means but i have a mint copy for sale/trade is anyone
is interested.
serious offers only.
thnks.
[`]
----- Original Message -----
From: Nuutti-Iivari Meriläinen <gordon@populo.vip.fi>
To: <idm@hyperreal.org>
Sent: Tuesday, January 09, 2001 3:55 PM
Subject: [idm] ``Shapes'' review (of sorts)
* * * * *
I haven't listened to this record for a while, and I have to say that I
really didn't expect that my reaction to the first track I chose would be
so strong. I chose ``Square'' as the first track to play - and if tracks
like this were more commonplace, people on the town would be very amused
at the sight of certain individuals trying to avoid colliding with
stationary objects like cars, lamp posts and elderly people (presupposing
that the individuals have provided themselves with this track in a format
other than vinyl). The track builds up very slowly, painting a picture of
an endless white glacier interfacing with a sky of almost an impossible
shade of blue. A dark meteor storm of rhyhtm suddenly starts to pound the
glacier, trailing dark, almost viscous smoke of string layers, puncturing
the white ice with harsh bass sounds. The mixture of fire and frozen ice
dance in a symphonic spiral, some calm moments ensue until the whole scene
is beautifully meshed in chaos, collapsing into a gaping black hole that
suddenly appears amidst all the beauty.
``Octagon'' starts off with volley of dirty rhythm, like a steel ball
with spikes rolling down a street in a city that has recently been
rendered uninhabitable by radiation. Smaller, spikeless ball bearings of
underlying melody start to roll from all directions, creating a carpet of
movement on the street - then suddenly gravity negates itself and it seems
that everything starts to float, the spikes on the ball try and reach out
for something solid but can't. Another negation of gravity, and the dance
of the steel balls begins afresh. They form intricate geometric patterns,
rolling and creating a new layer on top of the asphalt, unaware of the
excruciating heat that in just a flash melts them into a pool of shining
mercury-like silence.
I recently read about NASA's Cassini spacecraft and the radio waves it
has sent back from somewhere near Jupiter and how some scientists at the
University of Iowa had converted it to audible sound. ``Oval'' could be
something akin to that (though I haven't listened to the Jupiter audio
track yet), an interstellar sonar bleeping on top of an automatic galactic
channel searcher. I would really like to listen to a track like this if I
had the chance to go for a walk in space, visualising the in-and-out
phasing sounds as different kinds of radiation and energy flowing all
around me.
``Trapezoid'' casts the listener off to a digital jungle, the sounds of
the electronic rainforest are all around, drips of electrons, the voices
of strange robotic creatures rattling in the undergrowth. Bugs creeping
and crawling out of suddenly blooming flowers of string layers. A beast
of unknown nature growls with a bass voice. A female voice, cut up and
unintelligible reaches out from the depths but doesn't make any sense, the
shadows of the rainforest seem impenetrable, the female voice is the only
thing that should be followed, the beast growls nearer, nearer, nearer
- and then your network connection fails.
Heavy maroon velvet Curtains reveal an empty stage for ``Triangle'',
on which crowds of small cybernetic monkeys start run and do acrobatic
stunts, flipping and tumbling all over, trying to avoid getting stomped
under the similarly equipped gorillas that come on stage juggling balls of
light that emit a sound not unlike celestial bells. The band plays, the
gorillas stomp and dance to the 3/4 rhythm whilst challenging each other
and juggling across the stage with each other, the monkeys screech and
flip and bounce, the stage is perfectly coordinated and everything is in
sync, the performace taken to perfection. Anticlimactically, the lights
and music fade. No-one applauds.
Stars, like thousand eyes following any movement cover the sky above the
desert in ``Pentagon''. Warm, flute-like winds caress the landscape,
forming dunes of perfect pink sand. An eerie chant is heard in the
distance, streaks of distorted shooting stars arch across the sky, a
perfect sunset with blue, purple, red, and yellow lines the horizon.
A simple serenity surrounds everything, the bushes rustle in the wind. I
sit in the desert and drift gently to sleep, stars watching over me,
blinking in 7/8 unison.
* * * * *
I don't know if this gives anything to anyone. The tracks lent themselves
to my active imagination, and this is the result. If you have heard
Fitton's work before, you might be able to translate the above to his
soundscapes, but since they are my imaginary worlds the translation
might not be possible (unless we do a Vulcan mind meld, which may
prove difficult over a distance). They might be worth a chuckle or two for
their pseudo-poeticity (what? :). For the Cassini sounds, point your
browser to
http://slashdot.org/science/01/01/08/1246251.shtml .
Cheers,
--
nuutti-iivari meriläinen gordon at diversion dot org
http colon slash slash www dot diversion dot org slash
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