Under the Snow ~ The Other Room

Under the Snow‘s The Other Room arrives in the wake of The Vanishing Point, a free album (available on Bandcamp) that was heavy on field recordings and included an ambitious 22-minute drone piece.  The Other Room tones it down a bit (the album is only 15 minutes longer than that) but weaves a more subtle spell.  The concept is simple: seven separate rooms are described, given visual accompaniment by black-and-white photography.  Personal nostalgia is added by an accompanying slide.  Mine appears to be of a top hat and shovel, but my ears are better than my eyes.

Those familiar with the work of Gianluca Favaron (reviewed here separately and as half of Zbeen) will be familiar with his distinctive brand of electronics, a combination of sharp and sliding tones that possesses a slightly sinister edge without toppling into the terrifying.  Stefano Gentile’s guitar provides the moderating influence: whether the strings are plucked or played, they soften the timbre to a slightly more approachable level.  While these rooms are scored according to their psychic vibe and contents, one would be hard-pressed to call them a home; instead, they sound cold and clinical, more like deserted segments of unoccupied houses or soulless compartments of institutions. The movable chairs portrayed in two of the photographs demonstrate the difference between house and home: the former is an artificial creation in which parts do not create a whole.  The album’s scariest sound may be the angry electronic phone that rings once in “Room 401”, then stops; then a while later rings once again.  Where is the call coming from?  And where is the source of the ringing?  Is it possible that the entire call, from inception to reception, is automated?  If so, these rooms may not be haunted, as some may conclude; the only life they may possess is the half-life of their elements.

With both artists are credited with field recordings, there are no apparent clues as to what these field recordings might be.  The clicks, rasps, and rivets tumble over each other like animated tools.  Occasionally a bell may sound (“Room 202”, “Room 401”) or a piece of hardware rumble (“The Empty Room”), but the specific sources are impossible to unravel.  Real and unreal are rolled into a ball of yarn, with no end to pull.  This sonic anonymity is the key to The Other Room‘s success; the less obvious the sound, the higher the interest.  (Richard Allen)

Available here