December 2024
The Rossi Bar
To start the evening is Resting Pulse with some space dialogue, that whirrs off into delay then a slow uneven lurching beat with a bassline to match. Half bass half whistle, it’s possibly the same sound pitched across several octaves. The beat is a grating machine through a warehouse door. It’s constantly changing, not really evolving, but the lumpiness is shifting enough to keep the ear engaged. Eventually a grind comes in, some more dialogue, back to the beat, then drops to just the dialogue again the beat comes back warped. The machine takes control, briefly, then the doors slide ominously open. We can hear large machines working off in the reverb-y distance, space scrapes rhythm akin to the lift from “Are You Being Served”, scrapes and clicks. This does have the feel of vastness. The bass is an enormous and vague booming. A reversing alarm finishes that piece off. Or does it start the next one – a bass drum! Or at least, an occasional bass drum, with a simultaneous but open bass. Mid-range warps of caught machine saw. The bass flattens out in a something between a shifting drone and a bassline, it’s very sonic. There’s something of a melodic string synth line that unwinds into view before disappearing back into the void along with everything apart from the bass. A more insistent bass drum breaks in to herald the string synth’s return. Some huge stapling machine brings its own beat and the bass starts spiralling into itself. There’s a drop away to the reversing alarm again, some murky airport announcement, everything slows and unravels.
Melinda Bronstein next, reverbed toy drum looped, Casio (ah, joy) looped bassline and vaguely Telstar flourish, layered to something else, then suddenly all slowed down to ominous levels. Melinda sings, heavily delayed through one of her twin mics. Shaking shells again pitched down to a clanking rattle. “Strange Information”. The next starts with a Casio piano part, overlaid with a more synth-y bass noise, and a creepy whistling line. Possibly “Every time you go” judging by the vocals. A scurrying pan pipe solo breaks it up, the vocals return. The phone drops to the floor. A shake-y egg starts the third song, off into one of the loopers, the mysterious metal pyramid provides the percussion it’s a big sound from what looks like an M&S Xmas biscuit tin. Then reversed and joined by Casio bassline, another found object provides the clinking percussion sound then again it’s all suddenly dropped in pitch to a scary level. A 70s sugar bowl chimed with an afro comb, and the shaky nuts return, vocals occasionally double up. There’s a note in the bassline of the next song that makes the speakers rattle. A drone off the Casio, layered up humming, the main vocal line is wordless to start, the drones seem to become more malevolent as the song progresses. Everything drops away apart from the voices, she adds more layers to them and brings the bass back in, chains drop between the stainless sugar bowls, providing a stately rhythm that’s all that’s left at the end. It’s great to listen to, but special to watch.
Martin Chick for finish, modular-ed up, starting with block of bass-y noise, a bit of filter and bloop, then some harsh noise wall, by turns percussive, then glitch-y until we can feel a bassline forming behind the randomness and the noise gathers itself then winds down into delay feedback and we can really feel that sub bass. A rave alarm and 160ish bass drum starts knocking, typewriter drums clack away, the noise drops. Mostly. The bass filters up and some beeping begins. There quite some malarkey with the bass line morphing up and down in and out until it gets a right buzz on it. There’s some nasty noise line that crashes in and something that whirrs off as a monster new bass overpowers everything and drops away again, leaving this wandering synth line that ambulates away for a while then the drums are back, overloading something. One note bass (a personal favourite) heralds a change of beat. Everything gets a bit abstract, all the synths confused. And then it’s all stripped down to the beat, squeals of screaming noise punctuate proceedings bringing in a wildly morphing bassline like something from the days before hardcore codified. This rides away for a while, eventually joined by a slapping snare, the bassline chopped, and another dropped in beneath it. A sine tone hits a Brazilian whistle percussion line, the drums get all Masters at Work for a while, but the synth heads off for radiophonic-land. Back to the beat. There’s some filtering happening on the drums now and it all gets very loud and the instruments lose their shape and then gain them again back to the beat. This time he sets them off into some very grainy territory, a place of grey pointillism, the beat slows; disintegrates then speeds right up into chaos levels, delay swirls flail about, squalls of trebly noise trail off, the beat tries to bludgeon back but fails and stop.
Starting the evening of people playing under their own real names we had Martin Chick. Last time I saw Martin play he was surrounded by a load of bulky kit including an old Korg, this he slimmed down to a Modular synth and another box, the inevitable clutter of wires ensuring it’s not too tidy. Starting with a bass pulse on the 8s with bell on the ones, he blends in some white noise snares, warbling tinnitus pitch tones marshalling in more drums. A bit of random pitching ushers in a more minimal section that ends up feeling like a fence post being replaced after a storm. Slowly, slowly, blocks of bass or noise or stem whistle are folded in and left to drift off. The sound empties out; cuts of drum in and out, beep tone, bass teased back, then again out. Those blocks of pink noise back, flexatone. A steam kettle in another room washes out everything, building to blistering boil and end.
Finally we had R. Dyer to end the night. She started with what I suspect was an unplanned version of “Little Victories” with a new set of recorded good moments, they’re as funny as usual, the song as gloriously melancholy as usual, looped soprano sax lines weaving around each other over a low keyboard drone as Becca sings over the top. There’s a lot of new victories so we have a fairly extended outro involving washing up, Coventry, bells… other things. The second track starts with a strong keyboard bass line, organ notes, chimes, a couple of gently muted sax layers, vocals. Little raindrops is like an afternoon spent in the loft of your childhood home. “Canaries” was next, after a chat about the canary resuscitator, they were only retired in the late 80s. Who knew? It starts with a creepy creaking walking pace keyboard part, with some odd fx and singing from the canary’s perspective, an interlocking set of soprano layers, more singing finishing with the song of a toy canary. Starting with drum machine tambourine, unison soprano, I missed the name of the penultimate song. There is a sax solo in this one that really flies, lifts the spirits. “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”. For “King Alfred’s Cakes” Becca’s harp became detached from its contact mic, so she performs it acoustically, no electronics(!) but it’s wonderful, so we don’t mind. Voice and harp, do we need more description.