tsss tapes‘ Spring Batch offers a pair of cassette collaborations that contain a world of intriguing sounds. These recordings connect nations, cultures and composers, constructing new friendships and modes of listening. On one, two recording artists mine a cornucopia of sources as Euro Herc; on the other, Manja Ristić, Joana Guerra and Verónica Cerrotta integrate field recordings and music.
Euro Herc is Chemiefaserwerk (who runs the Falt label) and Turmeric Acid (who once ran the Czaszka label and now runs the Molt Fluid label). As each has a love for cassette culture, it’s no surprise that they utilize tape recorders. tsss tapes’ owner Francesco calls it “turning discarded sounds into a form of stumbling poetry.” Segnali contains disparate finds from Michal/Tumeric Acid (a kitchen timer, a kalimba pattern, a Polish instructional tape, a Croatian field recording) ~ an aural thrift shop, pilfered by one artist and sent to the other for processing.
The timer comes first, looped in such a way that it keeps ticking and ringing: something that would be incredibly annoying in the kitchen, but is alluring here. After a while, the layered timers begin to sound like clocks and wind chimes making a baby. The wind blows, and a bank of drones blows through the open window. The sounds of operating analogue equipment decorate the programme, tactile and immediate. Static bursts meet directional signals. Purposeful warp meets the abrasion of time. On Side B, the crunch continues with birdsong and feedback, soft and harsh intertwined. Children play against this backdrop, something we imagine would never happen in real life, where these sounds might imply danger. Cymbals crash as the numbers 57 and 58 begin an odd counting sequence, like the world’s longest game of hide and seek in a vast industrial park. By the end, one feels as if one has gone on a long unchaperoned adventure to places one should not have entered, and emerged intact.
Slani pejzaži features complementary musicians who had not previously known each other, their common link being Francesco, who helped to bring the three together. The label owner writes, “Manja is a violinist, Joana a cellist, Veronica a pianist … (they) met in this place where (their) music somehow has the same feeling.” According to Manja, “we gradually built a sonic simulacrum of places and moments frozen in time.” Manja sent the initial recordings to Verónica, who added material and sent it to Joana, who sent it back to Manja. Piece by piece, three worlds became a shared and sacred space.
Each of these three worlds also represents multiple locations; Manja’s recordings of Korčula are joined by recordings from the limestone quarries of the South Adriatic and the Austrian-Czech borderlands; she also plays a cardboard box. Verónica’s field recordings in and above Rio De Janeiro are mixed with film samples and shortwave radio. She writes, “I felt that one sound was calling to another. It was like painting a picture, mixing colors, highlighting figures, creating textures, outlining shapes.” Joana’s layer includes prepared cello, Moroccan flute, an old organ, bowed Portuguese guitar and her own voice. She writes, “The first track carried me to fluid, sandy shores, misty and mysterious landscapes, reminiscent of a lost memory or dream. In the second track, I sensed a cyclical motion, an ode to the beauty found in everyday rituals, hinting at an interconnectedness that binds all existence.”
This interconnectedness becomes the binding agent of the album. “Diario de sueños” (“Dream diary”) begins with chimes, rustles and birds, like the curtain pulled back on an ancient temple, revealing dusty bowls, emptying nests. There is holiness in connection, symbolized here by the musical conversation. Some parts are meant to be harmonic, others distinct yet not dissonant: a sign that every participant can be heard without all agreeing on every matter. Collaboration, in this instance, leads to consensus. As the women share memories of the places they’ve been, they create a global dialogue, meeting on common ground. The cello plays a lullaby over trains and traffic, stability and movement implied at the same time. Thunder begins to rumble; droplets descend on the instruments, producing nature’s own notes. Joana’s voice imitates a theremin, introducing an otherworldly tone balanced by the sound of footsteps on gravel.
And then to “O vento retoma o seu lugar inicial,” a line from Yannis Ritsos roughly (Google) translated as “The wind takes over its initial place.” At first, prospective travelers mill abound, seemingly at ease, waiting for the transport that will take them home or away; then the agitated cello, implying that the journey may not be so calm. The soothing voices of the station operators paper over any leftover anxiety. In this tape, leaving home also connotes leaving one’s comfort zone, surrendering control, accepting that collaboration may produce something greater than individual efforts. The wind blows in at the midpoint: the winds of change or even a spiritual wind. An Irish forecast is followed by a drenching, formidable rain, into which the flute soars, unafraid. A snippet of summer poetry produces an intense calm. Now tame as a tea kettle, the wind has come back around, safe as houses, safe as playgrounds.
While listening to these tapes, one may lose track of where they are being recorded or what their individual sounds may be. Instead, one is freed to focus on a feeling of deep connection with the world, animate and inanimate, human and nature, ancient and new. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 