Brussels’ Unfathomless label returns with a pair of complementary releases, each a single album-length work. Tossapol imagines two museums, one real and one imaginary, while Ludovic Medery walks through the Colonster Woods, gathering sonic impressions. These are the 94th and 95th releases on the imprint as they approach their celebratory centennial.
When Tossapol was a child, a new science museum was built nearby: shiny and filled with promise. The planetarium alone was a source of wonder. Now the “exhibits are not as new as they were before,” the lights are dim and the newness is diminished. The artist’s return prompts reflection on an “imaginary building” constructed from memory and impression. These two museums are now conflated.
The piece begins with the welcoming sounds of door chimes, morning birds and passing traffic. For many, an initial visit to the science museum was a school trip, wide-open doors discharging hoards of excited children. Time may either shine or dull the memories; this artist highlights the abrasion. Instead of sight, the museum becomes a location of sound: rustling wind and creaking corridors. One imagines attendance is not as it once was. In the eighth minute, one can hear a single person fumbling around, wondering where everyone has gone, whistling and tapping.
Light conversation in the tenth minute offers assurance that the real museum still possesses some allure. But what of the imaginary museum? To listen is to wonder at the sound of each subsequent exhibit: trickling water, tour guides, and rubbery, balloon-like utterances. The real museum is now a museum of feelings: this is how I felt then, this is how I feel now.
sédiment is by nature a more bucolic recording, again translating visual impressions into sound: as Ludovic Medery puts it, “sound filming.” The challenge is like describing light to a blind man, but one knows it can be done: music contains light and dark passages, and so do the woods.
In the opening minutes, Medery finds delight in the resonance of a metal drum, perhaps deserted in the riverside. There is crackle here, and rustle, and flow; might one also call it a museum? The sonic appeal of a forest is found not only in the expected sounds, but in the unexpected and unexplained, the latter which may cause a momentary frisson: am I safe in these woods? One begins to hear animals, or something worse, while surrendering to the imagination.
A roaring stream restores the balance, a sonic irony in that water sounds are soothing, but do not necessarily mean that one is safe. Hammering home this point, a plane flies dangerously low and disturbs the reverie. Twigs snap; or is Medery doing the snapping? But by the halfway point, the piece settles into a rhythm, including a natural tempo, including percussive pops. The feelings of the listener shift, as they likely do for the artist. A local resident ~ frog, bird, bug? ~ provides high-pitched commentary, like a squeaky toy. At the end, thunder frightens, but rain refuses to fall.
These artists do more than record sound: they convey the feelings connected to such sound. The museum isn’t just a museum; the forest isn’t just a forest. To experience both is to wonder at the difference between sounds heard, meanings imagined and value imbued. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 