8Sided Blog

a celebration of sound, culture, and the punk rock dream

Wheel Around the Filter

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The track that opens SYMBOL’s I Am Humble and Powerful is the title track, and it’s something of an obstacle course. The Rhodes-ish electric piano is pleasant enough, playing freeform lines and chords that eventually resolve on melodic themes. References to Grieg’s “Morning Mood” appear with perhaps an intentionality, but possibly not. These tones are accompanied by jittery, high-speed electronic percussion that wouldn’t be out of place in a video game quest. Together, there’s an odd synergy between the dueling elements, like the mismatched characters of a buddy movie coming to blows but eventually hugging it out. The two seem out of place as a team. And the striking thing is there are over 15 minutes of this curious interplay.

That’s an odd way to open an album, which brought to mind the aforementioned obstacle course. These opening 15 minutes are hardly dissonant or unsavory, but less patient listeners will likely drift away. It could serve as a barrier to the unworthy. Rewards exist for those who hang in there. Because, as a whole, SYMBOL’s album is a bold transmission of sound rendered pristine and sometimes degraded, an imperfect beauty just within reach.

Christopher Royal King is the lead guitarist in ‘cinematic rock ensemble’ This Will Destroy You and the rotating mirror behind SYMBOLS. Christopher is also a graphic artist, working with visuals as a designer and someone whose output occasionally haunts galleries. I’m fascinated by and drawn to musicians who work equally in the visual arts; their music often hides layers, like a finished painting obscures its earliest brushstrokes. And visual art is an appropriate launching point for this album. Like the abstract dichotomy of the challenging first track, the songs on I Am Humble and Powerful evoke both clashing hues and colors that beautifully bleed into each other.

Further tracks jettison the drum shenanigans of the opener, but a rhythm remains in the mix via staccato arpeggiations emanating out of the synth machine. The overall atmosphere is broken and gentle. I’d say we’re listening to some weird music box on its last legs, spurting out its final wabi-sabi notes in a manner that’s strained but glorious. “External Reminder Prompt” lays down this vibe with quick analog-ish chunks that pleasantly wheel around the filter. Watery bubble patterns and what could be distorted Vangelis riffs grab hold of “Emotional Texture Reflection” and calmly let go before things get out of hand. But, to my ears, the grand statement has got to be the operatic swell of “A New Nothing” gliding into the tarnished nursery chimes of “W.I.L.D.” Here, we meet the simplicity of riffage, a repeated motif made unrepetitious with various distortions, filters, and reverby accents. No disrespect meant to the provocative album sequence, but this later tune is something I would joyfully ingest for 15+ minutes.

a solution is obvious

• Antique music box, rare, maybe haunted
• Perfection and Wabi-Sabi in Music
• The Nine Strangest “Buddy Movie” Team-Ups
• Why is Edvard Grieg’s ‘Peer Gynt’ A Staple In Pop Culture?
• Far out: Vangelis on the science and power of music

Simon Berz’s Geological World

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Piecemeal improvisations, disconnected by not only time and place but also mortality, take residence in the three-way collaboration, Breath Versus Beats. Swiss sound explorer Simon Berz launched the project by laying down a quintet of spacey drum and percussion pieces at Mariny Studios in New Orleans. Months later, Simon had an onstage encounter with Toshinori Kondo, the Japanese electric trumpeter known for his work with John Zorn, Herbie Hancock, DJ Krush, and Bill Laswell’s band Praxis. As Simon relates, “[Kondo] was standing on stage and tapped me on the shoulder. I saw this guy for the first time in my life, and the first word he said to me was, “‘Recording.'”

Fast forward to the pair taking the unedited Mariny sessions to Kondo’s studio in Tokyo, where he lovingly blanketed his distinctive trumpet excursions over the top. Unfortunately, sometime later, Kondo passed away at the much-too-soon age of 71. The five tracks remained unfinished — the two musicians had stopped short, feeling the addition of a low-end instrument was a necessity — until Bill Laswell entered the picture. As a long-time collaborator and friend of Kondo’s, Bill enthusiastically provided the missing puzzle pieces with his rumbling bass guitar and deft mixing ear. Breath Versus Beats was both born and reborn.

The song’s first four titles conjure the elements — “Water,” “Earth,” “Air,” and “Fire” — while the fifth evokes their absence in “Emptiness.” Simon is a sound artist who often works with raw materials like rocks and trash and describes his process as coming from “the geological world.” Thus, it’s not surprising that natural elements provide sonic inspiration, but the tonal palettes that separate the songs, while distinct, are only discernibly connected to their titles by subtle interpretation. “Water” does flow alongside the gentle ride of Simon’s drum pattern, eventually meeting turbulent rapids once Kondo’s trumpet takes on the role of an overdriven electric guitar. And “Earth” certainly imagines a dirt-clad crew digging downward, Simon’s drums taking on a quick but soil-like plod while Bill’s bass flops around cooly in the mud.

It’s apparent after repeated listens that Breath Versus Beats is actually about three elements: Simon, Kondo, and Bill. The contributions of each are individual in the space occupied within the music’s territory, as well as how their instruments define the works’ collective whole. That each track resulted from three different improvisations recorded at different places and times is an amazing realization. There’s a palpable togetherness and organic color throughout Breath Versus Beats, owing to this trio of remarkable musicians who have spent their creative lives mining unconventional techniques. “Emptiness” is the best expression of this musical solidarity, blending the participants’ contributions into a gorgeous fourth-world soundscape. The performances feel restrained but in an artful way that respects the others’ parts before rising to a majestic hue. It’s as if this album is saying the elements found in nature feel separate, but they work best when they come together.

Simon Berz recently joined Lawrence Peryer for an extended discussion about Breath Versus Beats, the experimental jazz scene in New Orleans, and creating audio art from rubbish and found objects. It’s an excellent conversation — you can listen to it in the audio player below, on the episode’s web page, or in your favorite podcast player. Below the fold is an excerpt from this chat (edited for clarity) where Simon talks about the possibility of creating a symphony from scanning the barcodes of store-bought vegetables.

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The Piano Remains Among the Rubble

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We don’t need any more dystopias (fictional or otherwise), but Alex Lopes‘s gentle approach to the year 3023 offers a mirror-angled lens on another way to tell the story. The piano remains among the rubble, it seems, evoking centuries-distant memories. Discovered recordings point a ruined society toward a simpler past, even if that past is our ruinous own. Every generation deserves a reminder to pare down and hit the roots.

Brazilian musician Alex Lopes often records his solo piano compositions in one take and, as he describes, “I just tweaked some stuff on the post-production.” The songs on DYSTOPIA are sparse, not flowery or busy, and heavily melodic. Titles like “DOUBLETHINK” and “BRAVE NEW WORLD” (Lopes opts for caps) disclose the particular futurism/pessimism that serves as inspiration, but I’m hard-pressed to hear somber echoes in the music. At times, the compositions steer toward the traditional and almost hymnal (thus, hopeful), but there are also Sakamoto-like moments that squeeze catchiness from minimalist songcraft.

DYSTOPIA gifts an uncomplicated calm that helps ease a listener out of feelings of, well, dystopia. Alex’s music here is understated and pleasantly conventional, but there’s something to be said for the familiar beauty that lies in those qualities. Lopes gets bonus points, too, for contacting me through his recently activated Mastodon account. That’s doubleplusgood!

a dream that lies to itself:

• The Best of Brazilian Brutalism
• Reel life: Brazilian realities reflected in cinema
• The Dystopian Elements of Brazil (the movie)
• The Future of Architecture: Utopias, Dystopias, Heterotopias
• Ryuichi Sakamoto: “We are destroying the world.”

A Mess of Headaches

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I have nothing that coherent (i.e., reassuring) to say about Songtradr’s acquisition of Bandcamp. There’s an opinion that Songtradr appears to be a better fit for what Bandcamp does than Epic Games. I’m not so sure. Songtradr is interested in exploiting art (‘exploiting’ is used here factually, not judgmentally) rather than creating art. One could argue Epic at least had a hand in creation — I’m sure many of its game designers consider themselves artists.

A company changing hands in under two years doesn’t bode well. The sale also may betray a purpose behind Epic’s mystifying-at-the-time purchase of Bandcamp. Is it far-fetched to suspect Bandcamp was a chess piece in Epic’s protracted battle against Apple over the high % take from app store sales? For this reason, Bandcamp doesn’t allow purchases from its app, as Apple would compromise Bandcamp’s payment of around 82% of sales directly to artists. At the time of Bandcamp’s acquisition, this tale of the small fry (artists) suffering under the heel of the giant evil villain (Apple) was helpful as a narrative Epic wanted to argue in court. As Apple prevailed for the most part, perhaps Bandcamp’s advantage to Epic expired.

Others have noted that Bandcamp successfully unionized right after Epic’s acquisition. Bandcamp could be seen as a hot potato that might be hot enough to trigger similar moves throughout the larger company.

As for Songtradr, one must consider how a company expects to make money from something like Bandcamp. Songtradr’s statement promises that this new arrangement will “offer Bandcamp artists the ability and choice to have their music licensed to all forms of media.” Sounds great from the outside, but Songtradr presently charges its artists to enter into licensing opportunities. It’s not a lot — $50 a year for the privilege — but pay-to-play licensing platforms tend to put a bad taste in my mouth. And Songtradr utilizes all-you-can-eat licensing models. That means a business or licensee pays a yearly flat fee and can use as much music from Songtradr’s catalog as they wish.1Though I’m sure high-profile licenses like TV shows are exempt, I don’t know how many of those kinds of licenses the platform really does. Most prominent music supervisors steer clear of quantity-over-quality outlets like this. There’s not a whole lot of money for the artist under this model, and it’s doubtful a meaningful percentage makes back their yearly $50.2I’m happy to hear otherwise in the comments from artists with positive experiences.

The real question is how Songtradr can navigate the uncertainty about music rights pervasive on the Bandcamp platform. This wasn’t a problem before, as Bandcamp never got too deep into any usage scenarios that required scrutiny. That’s why the platform is rife with songs containing uncleared samples, cover songs that haven’t been properly registered, and even ‘bootleg’ remixes and appropriation of others’ recordings. Before, no one really seemed to care. But it’s a potential legal disaster for a platform that hopes to add Bandcamp artists to its licensing catalog simply by having them opt-in and pay a fee.

Songtradr will obviously require artists to sign an online contract stating that they own all the rights to the music and that they’re responsible for any legal trouble. But many artists have no idea about the rights to their songs. I still run into producers who think if they’ve bought a song, that gives them a license to sample it at will. And there are others who believe their unique ‘take’ on a classic tune makes them the credited writer. More often, many artists will opt in without consulting (and maybe without identifying) their songwriting — or label! — partners, inspiring a whole mess of headaches. Sure, an online contract with the artist will allow Songtradr to shift the legal blame, but believe me, after a few mid-profile licensing snafus where the client has to redo a project, all platform credibility is lost.

But what happens to those of us who love and use Bandcamp? As I told an internet friend, “Like reciting ‘memento mori,’ we need to always think about what we do in a world without Bandcamp because that day will come.”

I wrote in a prior blog post that having a central hub for your artistic endeavors that you own and control is essential, preferably accompanied by an email mailing list. If Bandcamp gets destroyed and your ‘store’ moves elsewhere, you need a way for your audience to know. Better yet, have your music also available to stream and purchase on your website or hub. Then, if Bandcamp or whatever is no longer an option, your audience will still have the means to access your music while you explore the next steps.

Elaborating further on this point, Peter Kirn wrote something important about Bandcamp and any potential replacement on his Create Digital Media blog:

Honestly, the real problem is, given the nature of platform capitalism and the governance of private corporations being for investor benefit, ultimately all these tools are doomed. It’s not really fair to say these services are artist-first, because artists ultimately have limited say over them. That’s not to say we shouldn’t use these services, but the dependency on them – and the extent to which we’re serving someone else’s needs – should absolutely be a worry.

That’s the rub. Not only should artists have hubs and sites under their command, but we need to start thinking about true artist-first tools that operate on community rather than profit. I feel that the rise of things like ActivityPub is pointing the way. And I know smart people are working right now on this sort of thing for the discovery and distribution of music.

I’m hopeful that the uncertainty around Bandcamp might be the thing that moves thought into action. When you consider how interests are presently aligned, here’s never been a better time to make something new and important happen for the betterment of independent music.

Pour Out a Little Coffee

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Today, the final musicREDEF newsletter with Matty Karas as ‘curator’ was sent out. I’ve read this newsletter for several years — it’s been a morning coffee companion — and though the curated links to breaking and notable music stories are the main draw for most, Matty’s commentary always brought the newsletter to the forefront of my inbox. Matty’s voice, his humor, his often on-target opinions, his moving eulogies, his constant frustration over things like the under-representation of women in the music industry and frequent gun-related fatalities of young rap artists — it often felt like I was having a conversation with Matty. So, when he dropped the news of his departure yesterday, it was like a good friend had just told me he was moving out of town for good.

Matty was also an early booster of this blog you’re reading, which is another personal bond I have with musicREDEF. A short news item about Matty in Variety mentions that “if you were lucky enough to have him link or retweet one of your articles — and you never had to send him anything because there was a 95% chance he’d already read it — you knew you were doing something right.” I don’t think I ever sent Matty one of my blog posts, but he picked up on them multiple times. And as I started getting serious about writing on here (before it seems I got unserious, but more on that someday), getting linked in musicREDEF was a boon to my ambition and ego.

Well, maybe a little too much ego stroke as I found myself thinking, “Will Matty be into this? Will I get a link?” whenever I embarked on a particularly meaty post. That overthinking wasn’t healthy and contributed to a bit of burnout, but that’s not Matty’s fault. And, honestly, I’m thankful that I went through that period of striving for musicREDEF linkbait. I ended up learning a lot about why I write, why I do this blog, and how I’m the only audience I should be satisfying. But, yes, as the Variety quote stated, it helped me feel like I was doing something right.

I know I’m hardly alone in already missing the prospect of Matty’s latest thoughts on what the hell is going on in this thing we call the music industry. I’ll also miss the prompts — musicREDEF gave me lots to think about, and more than a few blog posts were inspired by those curated links. But I can’t imagine Matty will become silent. Instead, I anticipate he’ll find other avenues, perhaps even his own (blog it, Matty!), for deciphering the madness of this industry and its artists. And, as he and REDEF boss Jason Hirschhorn are presently choosing a worthy replacement to curate musicREDEF, we may soon end up with daily double-shots of indispensable commentary.

Thanks, Matty, and best of luck. Onward. 🚀

Noise Annoys

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You may be familiar with a derisive term said in film circles: homework movies. This phrase refers to influential achievements in cinema that one doesn’t necessarily enjoy but are requirements for students of film history. Your mileage may vary here; some consider Citizen Kane the most obvious example of a ‘homework movie,’ but I find it quite enjoyable.

We don’t need to debate how most of Jean-Luc Godard‘s films feel like homework. Since the mid-60s, his movies have increasingly pummeled audiences with literary references, philosophical quotations, and fiery polemics. Even the most seasoned fans and expert critics of the French New Wave openly admit Godard often vaults far above their heads. I’m no exception.

This begs the question: why keep watching something you aren’t sure you like, much less understand? Watching and admiring while shrugging for explanations opens us to accusations of pretension or bandwagoning. Somehow partaking in inscrutable films like Godard’s is taken as its own performance.

And that’s cool. To insist that everyone, or even anyone, should sit and watch Godard, especially his later films, is a ridiculous proposition. Besides the earlier touchstones, Godard’s movies are of a taste one can’t acquire. You either savor the exercise of watching his difficult cinema or you don’t. No harm, no foul. 

But it’s not like we claim these films are difficult for everyone but us. I mean, I don’t feel superior or enlightened watching Godard’s Film Socialisme. Quite the opposite! However, it does make my brain feel like a muddy automobile subjected to an intense car wash before driving back out into the mud. And the parts connected to my eyes and ears got extra squeegeed. 

As you may have guessed, Godard’s death and a Criterion Channel subscription inspired me to dive into the filmmaker’s infamous later work over the past few weeks. It’s been a trip. I wasn’t sure how to approach this ‘homework,’ but then I read Roger Ebert’s suggestion that the key to later Godard is to succumb to his world: 

One single Godard film seems accidental. But if you see half a dozen, you begin to get a sense of his universe. You see themes introduced, developed, worked out, discarded and then later satirized.

You can’t watch these alongside other movies (or compare them, god forbid) because he aims to rip cinema apart at the seams. I’ve been watching the later films in a row, and I feel like I’m ‘getting’ them by seeing them together, though that doesn’t mean I’m also not frustrated and exasperated. It’s all part of viewing Godard as he lets ‘er rip.

I also think it’s vital to understand all of his films are ‘meta’ — from Breathless on — in that they reflect what he’s wondering about at the time. They’re not autobiographical; they’re the act of someone trying to figure things out and not settling on a worldview. I don’t think Godard is sure about anything in his films, even the bold pronouncements. It’s telling that one can read multiple reviews and essays on, say, The Image Book, and they’ll each tell you the movie is about something completely different. These movies show Godard loudly wondering, trying on ideas to see how they fit, and letting the public continue the discourse. What a fascinating thing. Richard Hell elaborates: 

Godard is willing to do something in a movie just to see what happens if he tries it. He can be boring in the exercise of his full freedom, but you can’t have one without the other, and I want them like nothing else.

As problematic as Godard was, I came away from these last films seeing him as an inspirational figure. He persisted and remained uncompromised until his demise at 91. His work is so hated and hatable, mostly because he didn’t give a fuck right to the end. I mean, Godard inflicted Cannes juries with films so dense and furious and, yes, incomparable that they had no choice but to create a prize for him. 

I talk a lot about punk rock on this blog, mainly in the context of autonomy and a strict DIY ethos. Godard was all that, but he also spit out punk rock in its more identifiable ‘two fingers in the air’ flavor. I’m trying hard to think of any accepted figures of the punk world who walk the talk into senior citizen status. I guess some of the Crass folks are still communally living in the woods, but I’m hard-pressed to come up with any others off the top of my head.

I can’t say I love love love Godard (very few do). And he’s not one of my favorite filmmakers. But I’ve become inspired by my journey through his most iconoclastic work. Just as the punk rockers inspired others to pick up guitars and bash away, Godard’s 21st-century films, made up of barely connected visual and audio collages, have me thinking about making weird little movies. Godard shot footage on a camera phone in Goodbye To Language, so why can’t I? That these films provide an imaginative impulse is perhaps the greatest compliment I can give. 

Note: This post was inspired by and contains parts of a recent exchange on Mastodon.

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The spirit of Godard’s uncompromising nose-thumbing/rules are made to be broken/commercial appeal be damned attitude has thrived in the noisier, improvised edges of the DIY musical arts since the accessibility of home recording. And Drone Bone recalls the early excitement of a time when PortaStudios ignited the garages of suburban noisemakers. Their self-titled exercise pairs Adrian Orange (of Thanksgiving and Adrian Orange and Her Band) and Ashby Mary Collinson for a seat-of-the-pants session recorded in 2007, now reissued by Brooklyn’s Perpetual Doom outfit. Ashby Mary is knocking riffs on the Wurlitzer in a fashion that recalls Suicide‘s repetitions, and Adrian is credited with drums and guitar. This all sounds live and on the spot, but I’m assuming the guitar was overdubbed unless Adrian plays drums and guitar simultaneously (I’m not entirely discounting that possibility).

“Drone Bone was born out of sheer restlessness,” writes Ashby Mary. It sounds like it! Some songs begin with the duo’s conversations as they quickly decide how to begin before barreling right into the racket. The music (and some of you may doubt that designation) is ramshackle and rambling, but the point is the joy of creative collaboration without expectation or preconception. I’m not even sure there was a plan. But there’s a great sense of release in these tracks, and you might find it exhilarating, sort of like how I felt when I first heard Jandek records or Daniel Johnston cassettes in the ’80s. Those fractured vibrations inspired teenage me to rattle a suburban garage of my own, and hearing Drone Bone makes me hopeful that its listeners’ next-door neighbors will not be pleased.

And the Heart Grows Fonder

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My eyes are a mess. You probably already know this. Funny thing: I’ve only been admitted to a hospital once — at the age of 12, I stabbed my leg with a knife while building a tree fort on Christmas Eve — and still have all my organs. That includes my tonsils, my appendix, and even my wisdom teeth. I often joke that I’ll probably get hit with everything all at once, as if my maladies have been biding their time. I couldn’t have predicted that it would all go to my eyes.

I’ve always had an outrageous astigmatism, but in my late 30s, the condition graduated to outright keratoconus. Then there’s this double vision, requiring expensive prism lenses on the glasses I wear in addition to the keratoconus correcting contacts. And now I’m dealing with fucking Fuchs’ Dystrophy. I’ve noticed a haze in my right eye that I first chalked up to foggy contacts. But, of course, I live in the armpit of humid central Florida, where fogged-out lenses are a way of life. But then the haze — now resembling a light gauze — became noticeable without my contacts. This state of affairs also made driving impossible at night, as oncoming cars’ headlights made the gauze in my eye burst into an unattractive light show. 

Thanks to a superb new optometrist, the Fuchs’ was identified. She referred me to a specialist who explained the condition would get much worse in no time at all. The two options were a cornea transplant — sorry, nope, for reasons I won’t go into — or a new procedure that involved scraping the Fuchs’ out of my eyeball. Yikes, but okay, sure.

I had this procedure about a month ago. It went smoothly. Supposedly the surgery is just like a cataract removal (if that’s a helpful frame of reference) — I was awake, somewhat sedated, and didn’t feel a thing. It looked like I was watching a stationary version of the light tunnel at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey as the doctor performed the surgery. 

For the first couple of weeks, my eye felt like an eyelash got trapped on the surface. An awful feeling, especially as this was an eyelash that wouldn’t budge. And half those days, the feeling was accompanied by a faucet of tears. I went through multiple boxes of tissue. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t watch movies, and I could barely look at anything for long.

Now all that is thankfully over, though looking through my right eye is like peering through the bottom of a drinking glass. This fuzziness should fade to normal eyesight in several weeks. And I have to drip exotic eye drops ordered from Japan into my socket four times a day. The drops have something to do with stem cell growth. Unfortunately, they’re expensive and only available in Japan as the procedure performed on me is so new. So I had to order a pack of these eye drop bottles months in advance.

It’s a slow process, and it’s slowing me down. I’m constantly fighting off frustration as I fall behind on projects and work. These past months have felt like a deep pit, from hurricanes creating a wake of chaos to my bout with COVID that turned into weeks and weeks of godawful exhaustion, and then this eye biz. There’s so much I want to do (like post all the time on this blog!), but I feel captured in the sticky web of inconvenience. 

I’m finally prying myself loose. I’m still way behind on my work stuff (and please accept my heartfelt apologies if you’re someone I work with), but for the first time in ages, I’m experiencing motivation. More than anything, I want to write and ramp up my creative output. It’s as if the period of incapacitation has made the heart grow fonder. So I’ve devised plans and goals for this blog that are inspiring. I’ll detail them in an upcoming Ballad of the Blog post.

These months have also been a learning experience and a lesson in not beating oneself up. I’ve had lots of practice with self-blame during these challenges, and I’ve come out the other side more accepting and less debilitated. Anne Helen Petersen had a similar epiphany in today’s Culture Study newsletter, which I highly recommend you read. Ann imagines what her weekend would be like if she had completed all of her work tasks: 

The work would’ve been done. But I’ve already tried that whittled-down version of a life, and it’s not a life at all. It’s a burnout trap, a suffocation, a flattening of self. Sure, I’d have completed all the work, done all the tasks, finished all the laundry. But to what end? And to what future? The next weekend would come, and I’d feel some semblance of control, which I may or may not have been able to carry over into the week. But achieving control is not the same as achieving happiness.

As I advised someone on Mastodon going through a post-COVID struggle similar to mine: “Don’t mentally punish yourself for not being able to get everything done that you think you need to while feeling [exhausted]. I was doing that constantly, and I’m sure it made things worse.” If I gain extra wisdom and a new spark to create that I continue to cultivate, the turmoil of the last several months will have been worthwhile. As a wise person said, “When life hands you Godzilla, build Mechagodzilla.”

3+1: Ordos Mk.0

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The 3+1 paradigm is simple: the subject receives over a dozen questions. These queries are mostly ‘stock,’ but I specifically target a few at the artist’s work. And then, the subject is asked to name something loved but has yet to be widely known. That’s the ‘+1.’ I expect a paragraph or two, three at most, with the 3+1 pieces serving as a quick look into an artist and their worldview. 

Ordos Mk.0 has other ideas, and I’m thankful for that. Avoiding the stock questions, Ordos Mk.0 honed in on the ones that directly addressed his craft and intentions. The resulting responses are lengthy and thoughtful. I could post each answer as a stand-alone post if I wanted to. I admit surprise, but I should have known Ordos Mk.0 would deliver with such depth. That’s because the launching point for this piece is the ambitious and sprawling three-part album(s), Sisyphean Audio Therapy. 

Ordos Mk.0 (I only know the artist by the alias) leans into the therapy aspect, presenting the three installments as a healing process for both the musician and the listener. ‘Music as therapy’ is a familiar trope, but in answering these questions, Ordos Mk.0 brings a unique and interesting take. In the press write-up, the artist explains:

[The albums] are intended to serve as tools for relief from stress and anxiety as well as being inspired by and about the music and other media we turn to escape from it. It was due to this cyclical nature of being music to relax and escape while also being about media to relax and escape to, combined with the unending need to do so, which feels impossible to fulfill, that it is described as “Sisyphean.” 

And the music approaches the idea distinctively, too. The albums’ tracks — admittedly and audibly influenced by the likes of Biosphere, Alessandro Cortini, Suzanne Ciani, and Trent Reznor’s work with Atticus Ross — favor song-like lengths as opposed to extended ambient drone exercises. There are nods across the electronic music spectrum and references to its history. Field recordings flutter in and out, triggering imagined possibilities and sonic contextualizing. Melody is also an essential element; there are plenty of compelling synth lines and motifs to grab us. These tracks are like snatches from misremembered dreams.

Ordos Mk.0 states that he intended his latest album, Sisyphean Audio Therapy 3, to have balanced doses of hope and despair. I hear an unequal division — there’s a bit more hope when I listen, but I tend to be a glass-half-full kind of guy. Perhaps part of the therapy for the listener is how Ordos Mk. 0’s music is open to emotional interpretation, a sort of Bandcampian Rorschach test. These cuts slice through hard times and take us — creator and listener — along with them. And it’s important when listening to remember that Camus considered Sisyphus a happy but absurd hero, “one who does not have false hope but also does not sink into despair.“

Enjoy this extended bit of 3+1 with Ordos Mk.0 — there’s a lot to sink your teeth into. Also — the artist provided the original photography on which this post’s graphics are based.

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Felix Laband: Sine Waves in Heaven

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I’ve always held a fascination for musical artists that started as painters — Brian Eno and Captain Beefheart come to mind — but it’s often impossible to find a key to their music through their visual expressions. Not so with Felix Laband. The South African recording artist’s sonic output stands side-by-side with his collage art, with his pieces adorning the covers of his albums from the very first, 2001’s Thin Shoes In June. The subjects of Felix’s collages are fractured, spare, and dramatically chopped. You might find animal life, anguished faces, African imagery, drab buildings, vague slogans, and pervy goings-on. And the collages, intentionally or not, accompany and unlock Felix’s music, especially his latest album, The Soft White Hand. 

Supported by a canvas of bright pigments in tone and melody, the citizens of Felix’s collages reside in his songs. Field recordings, animated dialogues, newsreel announcements, and undefinable intonations twist and bend in context — the mundane becoming bizarre, the bitter becoming joyous, the pleasant turning ominous. Felix’s label, Compost Records, delves into this aspect in the album’s press release:

“My music is always about collage, as is my art,” [Felix] affirms. “Everything I do is collage. It is a medium I find very interesting because you are taking history and distorting it and changing its meaning and turning it upside down and back to front.” In her book Recollections of My Non-Existence, Rebecca Solnit calls collage “literally a border art”; it is “an art of what happens when two things confront each other or spill onto each other.”

The music on The Soft White Hand can exist and satisfy without the insertion of collage. But the collage and the nature of its sample-play transform the album into personal reflection. With some attention, one can grasp Felix’s reservations and struggles — as a South African in a powder keg, as a sufferer of substance abuse, and of feeling abandoned and rejected in a world that’s lost control of itself. But despite the turmoil, the construction of The Soft White Hand has a deliberateness and a lightness. The album is sonically crisp — the melodies tend to sparkle, the rhythms can’t help but gyrate, and the low end is tough and resolute. Felix is an electronic music producer’s producer (like someone deemed “a DJ’s DJ or a writer’s writer”). The stereo spread is full and cosmic, open for study and ready to yield surprises on repeated listens. The Soft White Hand can’t be easily defined but feels close to something we already know.

Some months back, I interviewed David Sanborn (alongside his crafty wife, Jennifer Huber) for an expose on the extreme mischief of their Kraftwerk fandom. I was also aware that David is a devoted fan of Felix Laband’s art and music. In 2017, David bought one of Felix’s collage works and had it shipped from South Africa at a not-insignificant expense. The piece is fantastic, and I’ve admired it on David and Jennifer’s wall many times. This purchase inspired a correspondence between David and Felix, and they became regular internet acquaintances. So, when Felix appeared on my radar as an 8sided interview subject, I immediately thought of David. Who better to talk to this enigmatic artist? 

My instinct paid off. As you’ll hear in the interview audio below, these two had a mutually generous and strikingly personal conversation about life, Felix’s music, the state of the world, South Africa, and much more — along with many humorous asides. Here’s what David wants you to know about this interview: 

My pal Michael asked me if I was interested in interviewing Felix Laband, a South African composer of sublime electronic music I’ve long admired, to which I replied with a hard YES and an emphatic affirmative. I spent days relistening to Felix’s back catalog, making notes, and hoping to create a dialog complementary to his aspirations. In short, I was dedicated and thrilled about the opportunity. In retrospect, I may have over-delivered as Felix was a charming and fascinating man who shared some unique interests and opinions with me, so the sprawling recording I handed Michael to prune down to something manageable exceeded two hours. Michael: I’m sorry. Had I not asked every question and lifted every rug, I wouldn’t have stumbled on our shared loathing of dubstep, a shared loving of the film Withnail & I, and the dirt on Die Antwoord. I hope this interview shines a spotlight on an artist who deserves so much more than he’s received. 

I managed to edit this fascinating chat down to one tight hour, and I threw in a few interludes using music from The Soft White Hand. In addition to what David mentions in his paragraph, the two discuss the perils of addiction, why you shouldn’t ask your elders to translate Einstürzende Neubauten lyrics, the meanings behind some of the album’s samples, finding lewd photos for salacious collage art, and why David would rather interview Felix than Ralf Hütter of Kraftwerk. 

A big thanks to David Sanborn for conducting this interview (here’s his blog, which he should update more often, nudge nudge). What follows is a transcripted excerpt from the conversation, which begins with Felix wondering if he should leave South Africa as he and David explore a frequent artistic malady: self-doubt. If all this piques your interest, please enjoy the entire conversation in the handy audio player. It’s a good one.

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FL: Obviously [I could emigrate] to Europe because my record label, [Compost Records], is there. Probably Berlin to start with, just because it’s central and I have a lot of friends there. But this war is making everything quite difficult. I’m quite nervous.

DS: Yeah, the whole world feels destabilized, and a lot depends on the outcome. But that brings us to a catch-22. What is Felix Laband without South Africa? I think for a lot of artists, the struggles they experience make their music possible. I want to see you live somewhere where you’re safe, and you’re happy. But does that mean the music will continue, or will you give a big sigh of relief and just try to live your life happily? 

FL: I think the music will continue. But perhaps, and this might sound a bit odd, what I think about a lot is studying music [abroad] now that I’m a bit older and more mature. Perhaps I would take it seriously, like maybe classical music or, in particular, chamber music, which is what I’m really into. I don’t have any formal training. I feel like I’ve reached the point where my ideas are getting boring, and I’m not capable of thinking in terms of big chords and stuff like that. I feel like that might open a whole new chapter in my experience with music.

DS: I don’t want to come across as pandering, but you know I’m a big fan. I think The Soft White Hand is brilliant. It’s a cracking album. My wife and I went to the UK for the last three weeks and rented a car. We drove from Scotland all the way down to the Isle of Wight, and we listened to your album like half the time. 

FL: Beautiful. 

DS: And you talk about expanding your musical palette with some formal training. But I’ve got to say that this album is as close as electronic music gets to chamber music. There are elements to that album that remind me of the French composer Johann Pachelbel, for example. There are melodic elements that remind me of Philip Glass. And yet here you are saying you don’t feel that you’re as good as you could be. And I’m sure that there’s probably some truth to that in your mind, but I think you might also be a little, um … what’s the word I’m looking for? A lack of ego, perhaps.

FL: I appreciate you saying that. It means so much to me because I do feel like this album is a lot closer to where I want to be. I’ve been banging away trying to make this album for about six or seven years. And it only came together in terms of a concept, of something I was feeling confident about, maybe in the last year. That was after I was in a weird relationship with somebody a lot younger than me. It was quite a traumatic relationship, with a lot of fighting and stuff, but she helped me have a proper look at what I’m doing. She was right about a lot of stuff, and it pushed me a bit. That led to a bit more confidence in what it is that I actually want to do.

DS: Would you like to attend a university, or is there somebody you would like to work with who could impart knowledge? 

FL: I’m told that, because of my experience [as a recording artist], if I had to apply to a university, I might have some way in even though I don’t have any training. But I don’t even know what’s out there. I just think it might be quite interesting and push me to embrace that style of thinking.

DS: A common element of this album — and in most of your music — is a purity of sound. You use bells and other things that have a pure tone. There’s no distortion. When I listen to how hard you work on your music to make it perfect, it’s telling that you feel you could be a better musician. I know this isn’t news to you, but you don’t ever use the same drum break twice. You’re never just cutting and pasting four-bar loops. What causes that need for perfection? What makes you go for this particular sound?

FL: That’s such an interesting question. You know, if I were going to heaven, I would be on a sine wave. (laughs) I’ve always loved that tone. It speaks to me, that sort of sine wave tone. And I do love bell sounds and things like that. It’s interesting because distortion was something that I was super into at a certain point in my life. But I do find it quite difficult these days, especially in electronic music.

DS: There’s such purity in your music. There’s no distortion at all. It’s some of the clearest, cleanest stuff I’ve heard.

FL: I suppose it feels right to me. I mean, some tracks evolve over a long time. They might have started as something completely the opposite. I tend to work with things that I’ve done previously when I realize that it fits with something I’m working on now. I’ll merge them together. But when I feel it’s perfectly married and finished, it’s often clean in tone. Although, that’s not a conscious idea. It’s interesting that you brought that up, as I haven’t thought about it. You’re right.

→ Felix Laband’s The Soft White Hand is out now on Compost Records. You can find the album on Bandcamp, as well as all the streaming spots. To check out some of Felix’s collage art, visit his Instagram page.

This Must Be the Place

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Somehow we’ve made it to 2023, a special moment for those who believe in the 23 enigma. I’m a 3/23 baby, so I probably should believe it more than I do, especially as someone who once dove hard into the lore of William Burroughs and Robert Anton Wilson. Now I’m pretty sure it’s all confirmation bias. But there are other reasons to look forward to 2023, as well as reasons to dread a new year with caution. To help hedge my bets, I’m focusing on three personal highlights of 2022 as I hope they’ll set the pace for the year ahead:

Cooking. Way back in 2021, the hot peppers growing in Caroline’s vegetable garden inspired me. I learned how to make hot sauces, starting simple but then graduating to exotica. For example, the ghost pepper pineapple-pear hot sauce was the biggest hit, like nothing I’ve ever tasted. After months of assorted hot sauce concoctions — including some I came up with on my own — I realized that I was now essentially cooking. I’ve always wanted to confidently learn my way around a kitchen but never thought I could. It turns out hot sauces are a gateway drug to cooking! So, last year I embraced my inner chef, learning to cook all sorts of tasty vegan dishes. I’m getting good at it, too. Now I’m at the strange point where I’ve filled my YouTube history with cooking tutorials, the only gifts I’ll take are things like fancy olive oils, and Paprika has become my most used app. Needless to say, Caroline is thrilled with this development. My biggest triumph of 2022, across all categories, is probably the time I made a vegan version of palak paneer from scratch.

Interviewing. I edit podcasts, and one of those is the exceptional Spotlight On interview show. Over time as the editor, I’ve noticed how much the host, Lawrence (LP), has progressed as an interviewer. He listens, shows genuine interest in his subjects, and is empathetic enough to understand where to pull back or move forward in the rapport of the conversation. This observation inspired me to try my hand at interviewing following LP’s technique (which I know he’ll argue is not an intentional technique) as a guide. So I started a blog series of conversations with music-makers and artistic types, focusing on process, inspiration, and the creative path. It’s gone great. I’m surprised at how much I enjoyed doing this series, and, listening back, I feel like I ended up doing okay as the interviewer. Thanks, LP! Please have a listen to 2022’s conversations with More Ghost Than Man, Elijah Knutsen, San Mateo, Jogging House, Innerwoud, Greg Davis, and Ströme. This series will continue into 2023 with more exciting people and insights into what it means to create art.

Social Media. Regular visitors to this 8sided lair know of my “complicated relationship with social media.” As someone who once used ‘zines to “find the others,” interacting with niche pockets of like-minded weirdos on the internet always had an appeal. At one time, these folks were on Friendster, then on MySpace, and eventually ended up on Facebook and Twitter. I gave up on anything owned by the recently rechristened Meta a while back but persevered on Twitter with ebbing and flowing frequency. Now, I don’t want to revisit the changes at Twitter (you know), but near the end of October, I finally decided to give that platform the heave-ho. I still desired an outlet — posting on Twitter was actually a good way to test out thoughts that may end up as blog posts — and a place to meet those others. So, with hesitation, I signed up for Mastodon. I say ‘hesitation’ because we’ve all heard how difficult it is to sign up, how it’s so complicated, and that there are a bunch of freaks on there who yell at you when you don’t put a content warning on your lunch photo. It took me about an hour on Mastodon to learn that none of that is true — quite the opposite, really. And it then took about 24 hours to find plenty of cool ‘others,’ lots of like-minded weirdos, and a community of friendly people who engage with enthusiasm. I’m also experiencing true decentralization for the first time (this ain’t no Web3 snake oil), and I now realize I was missing out on a major component of the Punk Rock Dream. For the first time in maybe a decade, I’m excited about being on social media. As Mr. Byrne once crooned, “I guess that this must be the place.”