Few artists ever attempt the single track, album length release, and fewer still manage to succeed. Richard Garet is the exception to the rule, as proven by last season’s Decentering and this season’s Areal. The key to Garet’s success is sonic variety; this music unfolds chapter by chapter, instead of layer by layer. These particular noises came about as an experiment in transmission and reception. Component sections splay and arc: a speaker-to-speaker hiss, a static surge. Radio signals are muted, interrupted, blocked and thrown off course; distortions are flattened and teased. The result is sonic disruption, sanus interruptus. For those interested purely in sound and tone, Areal offers a buffet.
Despite the distortion, the album retains a soothing characteristic. Hidden harmonies produce pieces that mimic chimes, organ and strings, even though these elements are absent. A particularly beautiful passage that begins in the thirteenth minute sounds like sleet falling on woodblocks, and is followed by the crackle of what could be hail or fire, but is simply a static witness dressed in downy tones. Bells are not bells, planes are not planes, and the whole subject of accurate listening rears its curious head. A few true sound sources do enter the mix, as Garet utilizes random objects as percussion and fires up an electrical motor; but for the most part, he serves as gatekeeper for the glut of sounds yearning to breathe free. A rusty wheel and passing shower in the 24th minute are the most obvious, but given the method of construction, even these are questionable. It’s easier to marvel at the morass than it is to decipher the architecture, and it’s nearly impossible to deconstruct what is already a deconstruction. On Areal, intrusion and interruption are no longer unpleasant terms, but a means to a more pleasing end. (Richard Allen)
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a closer listen 