The long-hidden Requiem for Cats conjures shades of Juv, another project that remained buried for the better part of a decade. The experiments of Audionaut (Miami’s Omar Angulo) were never meant to see the light of day, but Elegua’s David Font talked him into it, and provided the painted art. The two share a love for felines; Requiem for Cats is presented in honor of two departed cats, and the bells on the title track were once a play toy for Angulo’s former companion.
Not that it’s all meows and bells; the album straddles the realms of experimental and dark ambient. The sound samples include those of “a colossal, cube-shaped structure shifting on its axis” and “randomizations of movements between Play, Rewind, and Fast Forward functions”. In other words, it’s as random as a cat’s play, which stops and starts without reason, according to unforeseen whims. The title track sputters and strolls for a good ten minutes before it starts to make sense. At that point, a percussive framework is laid down, and odder noises begin to enter: a feedback alarm (possibly the conjunction of cables) at 12:37; the bells at exactly 13:00 (not a coincidence); audio fizzle at 15:58; a drone at 17:09. This is a particularly fine stretch of material; one imagines that the cat watching the man would be more confused than the man watching the cat. By the end, one also wonders what the track would sound like backwards.
While the title track is the album’s showcase piece, the others offer mysterious conjunctions. “at the space academy” launches in more active fashion, adding a series of tea kettle whistles along the way. Like all of the tracks, it’s slow: slow in tempo and slow to unspool. But the dark tones at its center are a tempting attraction. At this juncture, the lo-fi limitations of the audio become apparent; a crisper presentation would have upped the allure. Oddly enough, the same limitation works in the favor of “tone deaf atheist”, the first bonus track, coming across as a plunderphonic transmission from a distant satellite. The bells from the title track reemerge, as do television advertisements and a snippet of Thelma Houston. A whole album of this would be remarkable. In like manner, the second and third bonus tracks are loosely connected to their earlier counterparts, adding the components of popcorn noises at the close of the second and birdsong (actually manipulated tape) in the third.
Requiem for Cats is a very odd recording, and could have used some editing, but it’s a good addition to the market: a time capsule of a more analogue era and a more innocent time. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 