First Impressions 024: Free jazz and metal melts, new age havens, ambient-country highs, solo piano and more.

Initial vibes on new music

Hello,

Some time ago, I got an unexpected message from a friend: ‘looking for a DJ to do an experimental set for The Mars Volta. know anyone lol’. And not quite just like that, I became the main support for this Sydney show at a venue that could hold 5,500 people. My friend had full trust, but the word came from above: “There must absolutely no rock music played during this set”. Not a worry: I offered to provide a sample of works they could likely expect. If the sample did not meet expectations, I could amend or move on. Noise, ambient, minimalism, hypnagogic treats of the time and more made the list. I thought I was pushing it, but I also really wanted to go hard. The sample was duly approved, with this caveat: “Please ensure not to play any rock music during your set”. I gave my assurances I would not breach the brief. When I show up at the back entrance of the venue, I give my name and purpose for the night to a man keeping watch. ‘Ah, the DJ! The band have asked me to make sure you do not play any rock music in your set’. I say that’s no problem and I’m ushered in. Inside, a man sitting at a desk inside introduces himself as the Australian tour manager. I introduce myself and he replies, ‘Are you playing any rock music in your set?’. I’m starting to feel like a wildcard presence in the busy backstage throb. I’m asked to wait before heading out to my spot. The band roll out, with the drummer stopping to fire off some paradiddles on a patch of carpet taped to a pylon. I catch his eye, he says hello and introduces himself, clearly not knowing how I fit in. I tell him. ‘You’re not going to play any rock music tonight, are you?’. I’m taken out to where the decks are set up. I ready the set and a man pretends not to hurry out my way. He says he’s The Mars Volta’s American tour manager. He says ‘I would like to make it clear that you are not going to play any rock music tonight. The band is really firm on this.’ I am polite and ask him to stay a few minutes to get a feel for the set to come. We’re good, though I have a fleeting temptation to pivot to an hour of Pink Floyd and At The Drive In played back to back. The decks are set up in the middle of this cavernous room – me and my choices are totally exposed but I’m excited on filling this massive space with my weirdly euphoric selection and hope to turn some heads. And I do. Many people look at me like I’m some sort of usurper who is not part of the plan. Their plan. Finally, one woman scowls at me – ‘What time is The Mars Volta on?’ ‘9pm’, I reply. ‘GOOD.’

Sure, maybe they were concerned dropping some Fugazi might make them feel like they were swimming naked when the tide came in. However, I want to believe The Mars Volta were cradling a romantic vision of sharing an unexpected musical experience as part of their concert. I was reminded of this story this week while thinking about sharing. Sharing is of course a core form of interaction – a communal act that so much music appreciation has been founded on. This has obviously been watered down in the streaming age where you can simply cut and paste a link. The I saw an Instagram post from music influencer Derrick Gee, who posited that covers by new hitmakers Royel Otis and Sabrina Carpenter of 90s alternative pop (Royel Otis doing The Cranberries’ Linger and Sabrina Carpenter doing The Cardigans’ Lovefool) was a beautiful matter of Generation Z paying homage to these bangers. (his choice of term) Like The Mars Volta plugging for an experimental set in their space to offer their fans, it’s a romantic notion of something shared between people who may be perceived as polar opposities. In Derrick’s view, older adults are now making 90s mixtapes for their kids. It could also be major industry mechanisms looking to access or foster a commonality in the name of merging demographics. If our cultural tastes are also seen as individual points of identity, what does this mean for the very notion of mass culture, as past and present are endlessly merged into one another. Sadly, today’s whitewashing of pop music to remove any distinct sense of tribalism and create mass appeal is seemingly another way to push the algorithm, not write new chapters of common ground.
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OK, let’s go:

Sylphine Soporifera - Antonina Nowacka: Surrounding her operatic-leaning voice with reverberating flute trills, floating zithers, harps and suspended synths, Antonia Nowacka makes her music as offering to both hide and thrive – a kind of open state of seclusion sitting somewhere between shared space and personal intimacy. Sylphine Soporifera’s delicate trickles of sound are a steadying drift towards a gentle inversion of breaking the fourth wall, entering the haze of Nowacka’s mind’s eye, formed in radiant light and carried by a warm air.

The Key (Became the Important Thing [and Then Just Faded Away​]​ - Chris Corsano: Super spring-loaded rock bombast from this crucial figure of America’s free and weird underground, also going appropriately full steam on free jazz and metal melts, all attended to with scalpel-like precision. Corsano is, of course, best known as a drummer with the widescreen, explosive measure of a fireworks display. While everything here is a decidedly solo offering, right down to the extended drum wig-out that could be Animal from The Muppets’ take on minimalism, he often plays to the group dynamic, underlining the core of rock’s ultimate power and possibility. Corsano taps into a vitality all his own, channelling spirit and abandon with a classicist’s ear and wild sleight-of-hand.

Birds & Beasts – SUSS: The Nashville trio proudly have an ambient-country badge stuck firm on their rucksack, yet Birds & Beasts doesn’t pander to any humdrum idea of a high and lonesome chill space. There’s stillness and there’s stasis, and much ambient-country rides the line too often. SUSS know the connection between pause and movement, and handling it with care is their greatest play. Forging more heft and drama on this album in its finely-wrought sequences for pedal steel, synth, keys and guitar, these panoramic pieces take sweet time to unfurl and gather some moss. Their highway ride just got a little wider, and a whole lot grander.

RECESSED DRAUGHTING - Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe: These recordings from the New York composer span several years in the making, tied together by voice and electronics being their sound sources. Lowe calls them a series of ‘moments’, though in Lowe’s way of bending time, inevitably the innate idea of brevity that might imply stretches towards moods that dwell with a disarming gentility. Lowe’s vocal processing rides a spectral line between spooked and choral, upping the sense of the unknown he uncannily captures in his work and its magnetic allure.

Metal Flowers – DUNZA: Well, turn me upside down and dip me in buttermilk if it isn’t James Jackson Toth of all things Wooden Wand serving up a set of dub-flecked tech-house jams, each with vocal samples of John Lydon from various Public Image Limited albums as their signal carrier. Of course, the signature Lydon prowl n’ howl has been audio crack for producers exploring the portal between punk fury to rave ecstasy: Leftfield and Afrika Bambaataa went straight to the source, while acts like The Prodigy dunked their disaffection in the same brand of piss and vinegar. Maybe Toth believes this vibe should have been more than just a detour for Lydon, and DUNZA is a fun homage to a particular energy clash.

Exin – Otto A. Totland: Totland’s solo piano work remains in the delicate and unashamedly pretty realm that launched the so-called neo-classical movement back in the mid-2000s, now watered down to an industry chasing Spotify Chill playlists and day spa placements. Thankfully, Totland plays with a humility and clear love for the instrument in his touch. These pieces hover with a quietly regal air, summoning true atmosphere from both austerity and authenticity. It’s curious to think of Exin as a throwback, but Totland works towards one of the original possibilities of modern solo piano that made it an attractive outlet – reaching for an awestruck kind of wonder couched within its softness.

Thanks for reading.
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Andrew Khedoori is the curator of Longform Editions.
First Impressions visual by Mark Gowing.