noe’s lullaby
andré maranha, bernardo devlin, david maranha, luís desirat, manuel mota, patrícia machás e rodrigo amado
CD, 2002 ed. Rossbin (Italy) RS004
andré maranha, bernardo devlin, david maranha, luís desirat, manuel mota, patrícia machás e rodrigo amado
CD, 2002 ed. Rossbin (Italy) RS004
http://www.myspace.com/ossoexotico
noes lullaby by davidmaranha
Portuguese composer David Maranha has always had an ear for knotty, unlikely textures, combinations of timbre of timbre that raise the eyebrow and pucker the mouth. Previous releases have seen him match unorthodox instrumental combinations with a love of steady state persistence. His brittle, bonescraping minimalism faintly nods to the likes of Phill Niblock or Arnold Dreyblatt but remains essentially Maranha’s own.
Noe’s Lullaby adopts the same modus operandi as Maranha’s previous albums (all hard to find but well worth seeking out). Here he explores a haunted house empty except for what sound like percussive scrapers, fluttering cymbals, guitars, bowed metal and violin. High frequency ambience ensures it never lives up to its title, and it varies throughout from edgily serene to scuzzily ominous.
It departs from previous efforts by intermittently foregrounding an asphyxiated and funereal rock rhythm, with shimmering cymbals accenting steady ripples of plucked bass. At first, I found the cymbals a real barrier to enjoying the music, which sounds quite fine enough without their brash presence. Repeated listenings diminished the problem, fortunately.
At times, Noe’s Lullaby has the glacial poise of gagaku music; at others, it’s the soundtrack to a David Lynch nightmare. Throughout its lengthy ebb and flow, the interest lies in the variations in its taut, fragile texture, like patterns of light at the bottom of a pool on a cloudy day. If it’s less successful than Maranha’s previous work, it’s no less worth hearing for that.
Brian Duguid
The Wire, issue 228
Maranha, a Portuguese musician best known from his group Osso Exotico, has created a powerful extended work here; a long march, a slow evolve, a non-drone (although it has a droning undertow). The layers recall the stately Japanese court music, gagaku, but there is absolutely no Japonaiserie here. The musicians are identified in the thin, elegant gatefold sleeve, but not their instruments. One can make connections with other slowly-unfolding music, but this sounds like neither Dreyblatt nor Bolero. What is remarkable about Noe’s Lullabye, clearly marked "play LOUD," is the interplay of the drone, which I tend to tag as continuo -- the intermittent splashes of what I perceive as bowed cymbal, bent guitar chords and percussive touches. The piece remains strong whether listened to attentively or while doing chores. The dynamic rises and fades are natural but not predictable.
Osso Exotico’s Musica #1 (Kormplastics KIP 004, 1993) lists Maranha and partners Patricia Machás and André Maranha, both part of the septet performing Noe’s Lullabye, playing violins, bowed mandolin, glass harmonicas, tubes, bowed xylophone, maranhophone, Chinese bells and other instruments. That piece is quite different from Noe, sectional and with prominent play to didgeridoo and other "solo" instruments. Both are composed, although I don’t how much (if any) improvisation is incorporated.
Maranha states, on Musica #1, that he wants "two parallel structures: one microtonal, produced by [random] instruments, and another one tonal... with the only concern of creating one macrostructure... bringing coherence to the whole." In that context, Noe’s Lullabye succeeds mightily, and is the stronger of the two works.
Steve Koenig
La Folia
David Maranha, known for his work with his brother Andre as the duo Osso Exotico, here presents a new composition that seems equally as informed by Swans and Godspeed You Black Emporer! as by minimalist classical music. Throughout the "Lullaby"s hour (nearly) of music, several patterns cycle over and around each other. The content of each is taken from (melo?)dramatic rock music; a steady bass drum kick, three succinct high-hat hits, a peel of guitar feedback. There's no mistaking the oppressive death-rock gloom that hangs over the work, with rhythmic bass thud anchoring it to an unchanging pace. Images of guitar distortion pedals (most notably a DOD pedal, conspicuously marked "Heavy Metal"), 1/4" guitar cables and a snare drum serve to hammer home the RAWK connotations. Yet, despite the many references to what might be perceived as an energetic or cathartic genre, the music does not evolve or build to any climactic noise; rather, all of the elements present at its beginning of the CD make appearances several times, and then "Noe's Lullaby" simply ends. The composer includes the phrase "to play LOUD" (caps are his) in the sleeve text, but the music isn't loud-sounding at all. So volume doesn't seem to affect the music very much (I resent a composer telling me how to listen to his or her music, anyway). Neither is it particularly narcotic, as its title implies. I tried going to sleep to it, but the threat of a big loud climax, while never actually arriving, seemed possible at every moment.
Howard Stelzer
Brainwashed
After a period of silence, David Maranha comes along with a new CD. In case you don't know: David Maranha was once a member of Osso Exotico, a Portugese trio that started out as a sort of ambient industrial group, but who quickly moved over to playing minimal music on a variety of sound sources, from guitars to glass harmonica. David went on to write pieces for small ensembles (sometimes the continuation of Osso Exotico) and further exploring the depths of minimalism and drones music. 'Noe's Lullaby' is one piece, of 52 minutes and played by Andre Maranha, Bernardo Devlin, David Maranha, Luis Desirat (the only one which says: plays with Paiste cymbals), Manuel Mota, Patricia Machas and Rordrigo Amado. From the instruments I could discover, I heard guitars, cello's and drums. The string instruments are bowed and produce small sounds too, but the leading part is played by the cymbals. It sounds like the score was a very limited one. "Play cymbals every now and then", "produce a drone note every now and then", and the intervals at which these happen are not clear. Although this release can indeed be classified as 'minimalism', I must say I am disapointed. It seems to me that there is a too limited score available, and it can't hold the tension/attention required. At the same time, the cymbals constantely crush by, thus preventing you from lulling asleep, which might have been the idea behind a lullaby as this is supposed to be. 'To Play Loud' the cover says... whoever goes to sleep with music on a loud volume...?
noes lullaby by davidmaranha
Portuguese composer David Maranha has always had an ear for knotty, unlikely textures, combinations of timbre of timbre that raise the eyebrow and pucker the mouth. Previous releases have seen him match unorthodox instrumental combinations with a love of steady state persistence. His brittle, bonescraping minimalism faintly nods to the likes of Phill Niblock or Arnold Dreyblatt but remains essentially Maranha’s own.
Noe’s Lullaby adopts the same modus operandi as Maranha’s previous albums (all hard to find but well worth seeking out). Here he explores a haunted house empty except for what sound like percussive scrapers, fluttering cymbals, guitars, bowed metal and violin. High frequency ambience ensures it never lives up to its title, and it varies throughout from edgily serene to scuzzily ominous.
It departs from previous efforts by intermittently foregrounding an asphyxiated and funereal rock rhythm, with shimmering cymbals accenting steady ripples of plucked bass. At first, I found the cymbals a real barrier to enjoying the music, which sounds quite fine enough without their brash presence. Repeated listenings diminished the problem, fortunately.
At times, Noe’s Lullaby has the glacial poise of gagaku music; at others, it’s the soundtrack to a David Lynch nightmare. Throughout its lengthy ebb and flow, the interest lies in the variations in its taut, fragile texture, like patterns of light at the bottom of a pool on a cloudy day. If it’s less successful than Maranha’s previous work, it’s no less worth hearing for that.
Brian Duguid
The Wire, issue 228
Maranha, a Portuguese musician best known from his group Osso Exotico, has created a powerful extended work here; a long march, a slow evolve, a non-drone (although it has a droning undertow). The layers recall the stately Japanese court music, gagaku, but there is absolutely no Japonaiserie here. The musicians are identified in the thin, elegant gatefold sleeve, but not their instruments. One can make connections with other slowly-unfolding music, but this sounds like neither Dreyblatt nor Bolero. What is remarkable about Noe’s Lullabye, clearly marked "play LOUD," is the interplay of the drone, which I tend to tag as continuo -- the intermittent splashes of what I perceive as bowed cymbal, bent guitar chords and percussive touches. The piece remains strong whether listened to attentively or while doing chores. The dynamic rises and fades are natural but not predictable.
Osso Exotico’s Musica #1 (Kormplastics KIP 004, 1993) lists Maranha and partners Patricia Machás and André Maranha, both part of the septet performing Noe’s Lullabye, playing violins, bowed mandolin, glass harmonicas, tubes, bowed xylophone, maranhophone, Chinese bells and other instruments. That piece is quite different from Noe, sectional and with prominent play to didgeridoo and other "solo" instruments. Both are composed, although I don’t how much (if any) improvisation is incorporated.
Maranha states, on Musica #1, that he wants "two parallel structures: one microtonal, produced by [random] instruments, and another one tonal... with the only concern of creating one macrostructure... bringing coherence to the whole." In that context, Noe’s Lullabye succeeds mightily, and is the stronger of the two works.
Steve Koenig
La Folia
David Maranha, known for his work with his brother Andre as the duo Osso Exotico, here presents a new composition that seems equally as informed by Swans and Godspeed You Black Emporer! as by minimalist classical music. Throughout the "Lullaby"s hour (nearly) of music, several patterns cycle over and around each other. The content of each is taken from (melo?)dramatic rock music; a steady bass drum kick, three succinct high-hat hits, a peel of guitar feedback. There's no mistaking the oppressive death-rock gloom that hangs over the work, with rhythmic bass thud anchoring it to an unchanging pace. Images of guitar distortion pedals (most notably a DOD pedal, conspicuously marked "Heavy Metal"), 1/4" guitar cables and a snare drum serve to hammer home the RAWK connotations. Yet, despite the many references to what might be perceived as an energetic or cathartic genre, the music does not evolve or build to any climactic noise; rather, all of the elements present at its beginning of the CD make appearances several times, and then "Noe's Lullaby" simply ends. The composer includes the phrase "to play LOUD" (caps are his) in the sleeve text, but the music isn't loud-sounding at all. So volume doesn't seem to affect the music very much (I resent a composer telling me how to listen to his or her music, anyway). Neither is it particularly narcotic, as its title implies. I tried going to sleep to it, but the threat of a big loud climax, while never actually arriving, seemed possible at every moment.
Howard Stelzer
Brainwashed
After a period of silence, David Maranha comes along with a new CD. In case you don't know: David Maranha was once a member of Osso Exotico, a Portugese trio that started out as a sort of ambient industrial group, but who quickly moved over to playing minimal music on a variety of sound sources, from guitars to glass harmonica. David went on to write pieces for small ensembles (sometimes the continuation of Osso Exotico) and further exploring the depths of minimalism and drones music. 'Noe's Lullaby' is one piece, of 52 minutes and played by Andre Maranha, Bernardo Devlin, David Maranha, Luis Desirat (the only one which says: plays with Paiste cymbals), Manuel Mota, Patricia Machas and Rordrigo Amado. From the instruments I could discover, I heard guitars, cello's and drums. The string instruments are bowed and produce small sounds too, but the leading part is played by the cymbals. It sounds like the score was a very limited one. "Play cymbals every now and then", "produce a drone note every now and then", and the intervals at which these happen are not clear. Although this release can indeed be classified as 'minimalism', I must say I am disapointed. It seems to me that there is a too limited score available, and it can't hold the tension/attention required. At the same time, the cymbals constantely crush by, thus preventing you from lulling asleep, which might have been the idea behind a lullaby as this is supposed to be. 'To Play Loud' the cover says... whoever goes to sleep with music on a loud volume...?
FDWVital
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário