Silent Novels' Norihito Kodama (N.R.Y.Y.)
keeps things minimal, packaging-wise, which I suppose is more or
less a requirement when you're regularly churning out dozens of
split-releases in editions of fifteen copies. Yet despite it being
one of many, many, many discs Kodama has cranked
out in the past few months,
this split is a respectably solid affair, juxtaposing Endometrium
Cuntplow's gradual passages of pedal noise with N.R.Y.Y.'s more
spastic and wacky approach to chaos.
Taking a roll down David Lucien Matheke's (EC's sole member) street can be a pretty harrowing
affair, as is evident right from his precisely-titled first track,
"092420091457," which charges through shifting hazes of atmospheric
noise sided by stray electronic signals and assorted accoutrements.
But, as I've learned from other releases of his, the listener is
often in for a treat --
Matheke brings a premeditated dynamism to his
performances that helps keep one engaged throughout. His
two improvisations on this split are well-constructed adventures
which toy around with industrial themes and no shortage of abrasion,
but it's the plowing electricity of the second track which
provides a satisfyingly cathartic climax.
N.R.Y.Y.'s contributions are overtly
more disjointed than their discmates, and it doesn't take long
for that notion to surface. "BE-BOP- heigh school" (I didn't name it)
implements, in order, a jazzy drum beat, a passage of ripping
harsh noise, and a torrent of outrageously manic electronic scissors
and blips -- all in the first three minutes. Cohesion be damned, it's
an impressively out-there trip, and one that doesn't settle down
throughout. I especially like N.R.Y.Y.'s familiar trope of meshing
noise with otherwise traditional musical elements, as on
BE-BOP's toasty percussive motif, which at one point bends
magnificently under the weight of noise rapture. "Filter,"
meanwhile, is perhaps a bit more "normal" as far as experimental
music goes, sticking largely to the contortion of a tasty strip of
abrasive noise.
To conclude -- here
is a juicy chunk of
occasionally wacky noise from these two recently prolific outlets of
sound. And with only a scant fifteen copies to speak of, one mustn't
dawdle!
