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 | Tear Ceremony: Resin (Simulacra Records - 1998) Resin from Tear Ceremony is a somewhat unsettling, yet very interesting sound-journey, comparable to a mildly bad LSD trip (not that you, or I, would know anything about that, really). Oh... and this trip occurs within a particularly surreal Hitchcock film and/or Dali painting... |
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Let's go with the painting simile... Murky greys and faded greens would be the colors of the cheerless un-melodies, with maybe a splotch of burnt ochre or a queasy shade of purple here and there to unbalance things just a bit more. Of course, with the proper mindset (drug use is optional), one can find beauty of a sort even within these "non-beautiful" art constructions.
Like some people prefer to view paintings of flowers or clowns rather than uncomfortably rendered abstract art, Tear Ceremony's pieces may be difficult listening for some, but quite rewarding for others.
The metaphorical brush is wielded by one T. Gautreau, whose sense of composition may or may not set well with your own preconceived notions of what is (or isn't) "musical". Not that the tracks here are noisy, loud or chaotic. All are fairly low-key, slow tempo, rather quiet pieces... it's just that things aren't quite right... not that this can't make for some very absorbing listening. Most tracks consist of a background pattern of one sort or another, over which other sound elements are added and removed. For instance, the flat waves of synth and meandering string in Communicating Vessels are punctuated by outbursts of clattery, echoey percussion. The dreamy xylophone-ish notes of The Glitter in the Snow are offset by discordantly ringing tones. The repetitive backdrop of Resin is dappled with percussive echoes and a cartoon-animal-chuckling sort of sound. Prague Frequency mixes flat, Czech-speaking (I assume) male and female radio voices over desolate, wafting electronics. The Girl with Jewelled Binoculars is the lengthiest cut, at 10:28. Various effects are layered throughout its mutation/evolution... quietly sustained electrodrift, reverberating flutes, more of those strange-little-animal-like sounds including a left-to-right purr, random tinklings, wind drone... all pulled from a seemingly disturbed artists sound palette and carefully, perhaps obsessively, arranged. Short track Gallimard (2:24) works with atonal plunky notes and what seems to be the clatter of a train or some unidentifiable piece of machinery. Deep two-toned notes form the backdrop of Underwater Astronomy and mixes in occasional clinks, scrapes and strange loon-like cries, eventually being intruded upon by a faraway low rippling. Ursuline is probably the "straightest" piece of music on the disc; smooth synth waves (with a bit of distortion occasionally drifting through) are overlain with slow, sparse piano bits, all leading to a yearning/nostalgic effect (for me anyway). Arcanum returns to the more discordant, employing a range of rippled, muffled and echoed soundsources. There's nothing particularly harsh about these songs, but they're infused with a weirdness of their own. I can't help but think that if one listened to this CD for long periods of time, they might become delusional/paranoid... |
| but under normal listening circumstances, Resin can take you on a drug-free mind excursion to some wonderfully strange (if not a bit bleak) places. One off-kilter Thumb Up! |  |
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